Vera's halfway through the door when she has to sidestep quickly. The coffee cups wobble dangerously in Cara's grip. "Whoa—" She reaches out instinctively to steady one of the cups, then takes a second look at Cara's face. Her hand hovers there for a moment before she pulls it back. "You heading back to campus?"

"To the library."

Vera shifts her weight, studying Cara's face. The library's the wrong direction for someone who looks like they haven't slept in days, but she doesn't say that. "Want help carrying those?" She gestures at the coffee cups. "I'm heading that way anyway."

For whatever reason, the only response to that she gets is a confused headtilt.

She's stepping closer to get a better look at her, adjusting her elbow-length gloves. "Look at me." What do her pupils look like?

She looks on command. Her eyes are - focusing fine, but they aren't moving at all after the initial focus, and - she's not blinking. at all.

(Her eyes are also very slightly bluer than any natural eye should be, if Vera is looking with that kind of detail in mind.)

Vera reaches out with one gloved hand and snaps her fingers right in front of Cara's face. No flinch. "Fascinating." She takes one of the coffee cups from Cara's hands and sets it on the sidewalk, then checks for a pulse at her wrist. "When did you last sleep?"

Pulse: about 100 bpm. "Wednesday night at about 2." (It's currently Friday morning.)

Vera releases her wrist and picks up the coffee cup from the ground. "Thirty-six hours. That tracks." She tilts her head, considering. "You said library. Is that where you were going before, or just what comes out when someone asks?" She starts walking in the direction of campus, slow enough that Cara can follow if she's inclined to. The morning air is crisp, and there aren't many people around yet.

She follows Vera. "I'm bringing these coffees to the library. For my study group."

Vera glances at the cups in Cara's hands, then at the sky. The sun's been up for at least an hour. "Study group that starts at seven in the morning. On a Friday." She takes a sip of the coffee she's holding—Cara's coffee—and grimaces slightly at how sweet it is. "When did your study group start, exactly? Wednesday night at two?"

"Gathering time was 6:30. The class is at 8 am." She reaches out to try and take the coffee back from Vera.

Vera steps back, keeping the coffee just out of reach. "Which class?" She watches Cara's movements carefully—they're mechanical, predictable. "Because the only 8 AM classes today are in the engineering building, and that's the opposite direction." She takes another sip. "Besides, your study group must be incredibly patient if they've been waiting an hour for their coffee."

"The group is for grad level Comparative Dungeon Response Framework Studies, seminar at 8 am, Mondays and Fridays. I didn't leave to get the coffee at the start of the meetup. We met in the library, which is this way." She starts walking a bit faster - she needs that coffee back.

"CDRF Studies." Vera matches Cara's pace easily, still holding the coffee. "Interesting. And your professor's fine with you showing up to a grad seminar looking like—" She gestures vaguely at Cara's general dishevelment. "Never mind. Here's what I think happened. You've been awake since Wednesday, you're running on autopilot, and your body's doing whatever it thinks it's supposed to be doing while your brain checked out somewhere around hour twenty-four." She sidesteps a crack in the sidewalk that Cara walks right over. "Tell me, when's the last time you actually felt anything? Pain, hunger, anything at all?" She swivels to face her, and the heel of her steel-clad boot bears down on the top of Cara's foot.

She doesn't react to the incoming heel, but the question makes her pause, mouth slightly open, brow furrowed in thought.

Vera applies more pressure, shifting her weight forward. The steel heel digs in harder—enough that it should be making Cara at least wince, if not cry out. "That's what I thought." She pulls her foot back and circles around Cara, still holding the coffee. "Blue eyes getting bluer, no pain response, cognitive loops. You know what this looks like to me?" She stops directly in front of her, blocking the path to the library. "Either you're having the world's most boring psychotic break, or you're about three days into something much more interesting."

"...the last time I remember feeling something was last night, at around 10 pm. I was hungry. I ate a bag of chips." 

She doesn't react to anything else Vera said. She tries to keep walking, but she can't, foot pinned to the ground. She looks at her foot, and then up at Vera in confusion. 

"A whole five hours of nothing before you stopped sleeping." Vera shifts her stance, heel still firmly planted. "Let me guess what happened next. You just kept going. Studying, maybe. Making notes that got progressively less coherent." She leans down slightly, voice dropping. "And now you're telling me you walked out of a coffee shop, headed to a study group that doesn't exist, for a class in the wrong building, and you can't even work out why you're stuck." She lifts her foot abruptly and gives Cara a sharp push backward with her free hand. "Sit down before you fall down."

... She sits down heavily, looking up at Vera. "I was stuck because you were standing on my foot." 

Vera crouches down in front of her, setting the coffee cup aside. "That's the first accurate thing you've said all morning." She pulls off one of her gloves with her teeth, then reaches out and presses two fingers against Cara's neck, ostensibly checking her pulse again. The contact is brief, clinical, but there's something else there—a sensation like static electricity resolving into ground, or pressure equalizing between two spaces. It's like when she gets her teeth into a particularly crisp Gala and she can hear the crunch. She wants to do it again. She keeps her expression neutral, but her eyes narrow slightly. "Your body temperature's off too. When's the last time you ate something that wasn't chips?"

"I had lunch at the cafeteria a bit after 1 pm. Cheese pizza and fries." She pauses. "...are you not going to let me take the coffee to my study group?" 

"Gold star for observation. Now tell me why you didn't say anything about it. Or pull your foot away. Or, I don't know, react like a normal person would when someone's grinding a heel into their foot." She reaches out, pressing two fingers against Cara's wrist again. She can feel it—that peculiar resonance that only comes from one esper touching another. It's... actually, really nice. Like, really nice. Maybe she'll keep her. "Three days into hell week and walking around like a zombie. You're lucky you ran into me and not someone who'd just call an ambulance."

She frowns. "...I was bringing coffee to my study group." 

She pulls out her phone and starts typing something into it.

Vera doesn't let go of her wrist. "Type with your other hand." She tightens her grip slightly, and the pleasant feeling intensifies—not painful, just... present. Insistent. "What, telling your study group you'll be late? Or are you finally googling 'what is hell week' like you should have done days ago?" She leans in closer, voice dropping. "Here's a fun fact: most awakening espers die if they're left alone. The lucky ones just end up brain-damaged. So whatever automated response you're about to send, maybe add 'also I'm having a medical emergency' to it."

She switches to her other hand and types up and sends to a group text chat:

I can't bring the coffee sorry

also I'm having a medical emergency

She didn't know what she expected. This girl is a doll. She would win "most suggestible coed 2030" at a sorority frosh hazing.

texts quickly start appearing on Cara's phone.

What the fuck?

    Are you okay? Should we come find you?

       Cara, do you need us to call 911?

I'll tell Prof Meadows when seminar starts - you TA for her, right? she can find someone to fill your shift.

She stares with a vacant look on her face at the first 3 messages.

Then, when the fourth one comes in, she slowly starts typing "I TA for Prof Meadows, yes"

"Good girl." Vera's smile is sharp. She plucks the phone from Cara's hand and glances at the screen, then pockets it. "Now stand up. We're going somewhere" with fewer witnesses "else". She pulls Cara to her feet by the wrist she's still holding, and the contact sends another wave of that pleasant tingling sensation up her arm like a nascent heart attack. "The athletics complex is mostly empty this time of morning. Perfect place to cool off." She starts walking, not bothering to check if her Eurydice is following—the grip on her wrist ensures she doesn't have much choice. "You're in luck. I can make it stop."

She doesn't seem to have anything to say about that, but she's predictably very easy to lead wherever Vera wants to take her.

She's going to drop the phone in the pond on the quad on the way over (§ 12.1-21-05). Vera really appreciates the complete lack of eye contact or interest in the docile thing she's pulling around from the other people up this early. Sometimes, atomization has benefits!

She turns her head to look at the phone falling into the pond, but doesn't otherwise react.

She does stumble, as they step down from a curb, and starts falling forward. 

Vera yanks back on Cara's wrist, hard enough to arrest the fall but not quite hard enough to pull her upright. She lets her hang there for a moment, suspended at an awkward angle, before stepping forward and using her other hand to push her back to standing. "Careful. Can't have you cracking your skull before we get you somewhere safe." The athletics complex looms ahead, all glass and concrete in the morning light. She swipes her student ID at the side entrance. "Lucky for you, I have pool access."

In the moment she's hanging by her wrist, Cara does adjust her weight a bit to increase her stability, but (predictably) she does not otherwise react to the incident.

Followfollow.

The hallways echo with their footsteps—Vera's measured clicks and Cara's shuffling gait. The building smells like chlorine and industrial cleaner. She leads them past the main pool area, down a side corridor lined with team photos dating back decades. The women's swim team locker room door has a keypad lock; Vera punches in the code without hesitation.

"Empty until afternoon practice." She pushes Cara through the door ahead of her. The room is all white tile and metal lockers, benches running down the center. A doorway at the far end leads to the showers. Vera finally releases Cara's wrist and begins fiddling with a combination lock (§ 12.1-22-03), watching to see if the girl will stand there like furniture or actually move on her own.

Sheee is going to stand there like furniture.

Well, ok then. The locker swings open, revealing a spare swimsuit and towel. Vera pulls out both, then turns back to study her new acquisition. She walks a slow circle around Cara, noting the slack posture, the thousand-yard stare. "Strip." The word comes out casual, like she's asking about the weather.

"And put this on." She tosses her a one-piece swimsuit. It's surprisingly pale and frilly and has little trailing bits. "We're going swimming."

She obediently removes all her clothes, pulling her dress and bra off over her head, and then shimmying out of her biker shorts. She makes no effort to hide her exposed body. (If Vera hadn't already noticed that that Cara is trans, well, she does now.)

She does her best to fit herself into the provided swimsuit, too.

Vera watches with clinical interest, making no comment. She waits until Cara's done struggling with the suit before stepping forward to adjust the straps properly. Her fingers are cold even through the gloves. "Turn around." She ties the back ties tighter than strictly necessary. "There. Now you look like a proper little synchronized swimmer." She heads for the door that leads to the pool deck. "Come along. The water's going to be freezing, but I don't think you'll mind."

It does seem unlikely that she'd mind, huh.

Cara follows Vera through the pool doors.

The pool stretches out before them, Olympic-sized and mirror-still in the morning light. The air reeks of chlorine. Vera walks to the edge and dips a toe in, then glances back at Cara. "Jump in. Deep end." She gestures to the far side where the depth markers read 12 feet. "And try to touch the bottom when you get there."

Cara obediently walks over to the far end of the pool, jumps in, and starts trying to swim downward. 

She doesn't react to the extreme temperature change at all, but she's also... clearly not a swimmer. Her technique is terrible, to the point where it's not super obvious if she'll reach the bottom of the pool before she starts actively drowning.

Vera watches for a few seconds, counting. The flailing is almost artistic in its inefficiency. She pulls off her boots and gloves in quick, practiced movements, stripping down to shorts and bandeau, then dives in with considerably more grace. The water is shockingly cold but she doesn't let it show on her face. She grabs Cara around the waist from behind and kicks them both to the surface, hauling the girl to the edge of the pool.

"Hands on the edge. Hold yourself up." She keeps one hand on Cara's shoulder, treading water. "Now tell me—can you feel my hand? Can you feel the cold?" The contact tingles, that same electric sensation amplified by the water and skin-to-skin contact.

Cara mechanically stabilizes herself on the pool edge, as instructed, and then frowns, concentrating... 

"...no. and no."

Well, she'll just give her a little dunk, then.

Cara is now underwater.

Vera moves her hand from Cara's shoulder to the back of her neck, fingers splaying against wet skin. The sensation intensifies—like sparks traveling up her arm, settling warm in her chest. She could get used to this. "Your brain's shutting down everything it thinks is unnecessary. Pain, temperature, probably hunger too. Just keeping the basic motor functions running."

She uses her grip to turn Cara's head, examining her profile. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to stay perfectly still while I figure out exactly how broken you are. Then we're going to see if I can fix it." Her thumb traces along Cara's jaw. "Or at least make it interesting."

She cannot acknowledge the order in any way while staying perfectly still, so she does not.

She also can't breathe, but that's the kind of problem that will resolve itself on its own, one way or another.

She counts. Ten seconds. Twenty. The girl's not even twitching (§ 12.1-17-03). Vera slides her hand around to grip the back of Cara's neck more firmly and lifts, pulling her face clear of the water. "Breathe." She waits for the inevitable gasping inhale before continuing. "Good. You follow orders perfectly when your brain's this fried. That's fun." She shifts her grip, fingers threading through wet hair. "Say my name."

"V-Vera Hale." (she coughs)

Um.

Well. It could be awkward if she actually was having a. Unknown medical emergency. "Do you have a family history of... sleepwalking or something." She's not a premed?? How did she get into this situation.

"Not to my knowledge."

"Right. Well." She lets go of Cara's neck and leans back against the filter. She feels a twinge of obligation for the thing in front of her as the tingling sensation fades, leaving her feeling oddly bereft. A soft of conditioning for her. "You're manifesting. Congratulations, you're going to be an esper." She stands, water dripping from her legs onto the pool deck. "The good news is, I can fix this. The bad news is, you're going to be stuck with me for the next four days minimum." She pauses, and tilts her head. "Could be good news. It takes all kinds. You can say thank you, now."

"Thank you." Her voice sounds raspy.

"Your voice sounds terrible. Drink some water."

Cara obligingly drinks a mouthful of pool water.

There's a bark of laughter. "Jesus. Not that water." She hauls herself out of the pool in one smooth motion, water streaming off her skin. "Get out. We're going to the locker room where there's a drinking fountain. And towels."

She's slow-moving, getting out of the pool, but she does make it on her own, after a bit. 

Follow follow.

Push.

- She slips on the pool floor, pitching forward - 

She idly wonders if the girl is as blue on the inside as she is on the outside.

Cara does fall somewhat more gracefully than a crash test dummy - she folds her body inward, knees hitting the ground first, then palms.

Knees bleeding, she turns to look back up at Vera.

Guess not. She crouches and reaches down running her finger along the skinned knee, bringing it to her lips.

Blank stare.

The blood tastes like copper and chlorine and something else—that alluring tang that comes with compatibility. She stands, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Up. We're getting you cleaned up." She grabs Cara under the arms and hauls her to her feet, noting how the girl's weight shifts automatically to compensate. Still some reflexes in there, at least. "Your eyes are changing color, by the way. Turning this pretty aqua. Shame you can't appreciate it."

Cara is very cooperative with being pulled up! She leans on Vera once upright. 

The weight against her shoulder sends another jolt of that electric compatibility through her system. She shifts her grip, one arm around Cara's waist now, and starts walking them toward the locker room. "You know what's interesting? You're still in there somewhere. Still processing, still following instructions." She pushes through the door with her hip. "Makes me wonder what else you'd do if I told you to."

The drinking fountain is right there by the entrance. She maneuvers them over to it, pressing the button with her free hand. "Drink. Real water this time."

It's a good question, isn't it? 

Cara drinks water from the fountain, gulp gulp gulp swallow breathe, gulp gulp gulp swallow breathe, gulp gulp gulp swallow breathe, gulp gulp gulp swallow breathe...... 

"Stop." She pulls Cara back from the fountain by the shoulder. "Christ, you'd drown yourself on dry land if I told you to breathe underwater." She grabs a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and starts roughly patting the water off Cara's face and chest. "We need to get you somewhere I can actually work on this. My apartment's not far." She tosses the wet paper towels in the trash and starts steering Cara toward her locker again. She's already running through possibilities in her head. How much can she push her?

On second thought: "How long can you hold your breath for?"

Follow follow. "I don't know." 

"Of course you don't." She pulls Cara back to her feet, keeping one hand on her arm. "Let's find out. Back to the pool." She starts walking them back out to the pool deck, her grip firm. "You're going to do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you. No more, no less. Understand?" The contact is making her skin hum, that pleasant electric sensation growing stronger. She wonders if Cara can feel it at all through the fog of her backlash, or if she's too far gone to register anything but direct commands.

She nods, shivering. 

She stops at the edge of the pool, positioning Cara right at the lip. The water reflects the morning light, deceptively peaceful. "Good. When I push you in, you're going to sink to the bottom and stay there. Hold your breath as long as you can. When you can't anymore, exhale completely and stay down. Don't come up until I pull you up." (§ 12.1-17-02.1) She shifts her grip to Cara's shoulders, feeling that electric thrill intensify. "Ready?"

She nods again. "Yes." 

She doesn't give her time to reconsider. One hard shove sends Cara tumbling backward into the pool with a splash. Vera watches as the girl sinks like a stone, those pretty blue eyes still open and staring up through the water. She starts counting again, pacing along the edge of the pool, tracking the shadow on the bottom.

She's got her instructions! She sinks to the bottom. 

The seconds pass by. 10, 20, 30, 40, 50... 

at about 55 seconds, she shoves the air out of her lungs. 

Fifty-five seconds. Not bad for someone who doesn't know. The bubbles rise to the surface in a rush, and Vera watches them pop, one by one. She keeps counting. Sixty. Seventy. The shadow at the bottom hasn't moved.

At ninety seconds, she sets her feet and dives in. The water hits like ice against her skin, but she keeps her focus entirely on the figure below. Cara's eyes are still open, still that impossible blue, staring at nothing. her lips seal around the girl's, and she exhales into her lungs, hand caressing the turn of her jaw. It's thrilling. Vera wraps an arm around her waist and kicks hard for the surface.

She wasn't ordered to start breathing again, so she's trying very hard not to inhale, even once they surface.

This is okay, she thinks to herself. 

They break the surface and Vera has to suppress a laugh. Of course she's not breathing. "Breathe," she commands, hauling them both to the edge. She keeps one arm wrapped around Cara's waist, the contact singing through her nerves. "In and out. Normal rhythm." She maneuvers them to the shallow end, where she can stand and still support Cara's weight. "Look at you. Perfect little doll. Do you even know what's happening to you?"

She resumes normal breathing, and slowly nods at the question. 

"I... think I do." 

"Oh? Tell me what you think is happening." She shifts her grip, one hand splayed across Cara's stomach, the other still supporting her weight. The contact is intoxicating—she can feel the backlash draining away with every second of skin against skin, nails digging into soft midsection. "Be specific. Use your words." She leans in closer, breath warm against Cara's ear.

She thinks for a long time, and then says in her eerily flat voice: "I'm awakening as an esper. My backlash makes me... easy to boss around. It's doing something else to me, too, that I can't explain. You noticed something what's up with me at the coffee shop this morning, took a closer look, and made some incorrect conclusions about what was wrong with me but did correctly identify that I'm awakening as an esper and informed me. You're also an esper,  we are compatible, and you've been guiding me. You've essentially kidnapped me; you destroyed my phone, and you've been - doing other things to me, too." 

"Kidnapped is such an ugly word. I prefer 'rescued.'" She tightens her grip, pulling Cara flush against her in the water. "And you're welcome, by the way. Without me, you'd have wandered into traffic by Tuesday." She traces a finger along Cara's collarbone, considering. "The thing you can't explain—that would be the part where you're losing pieces of yourself. Bit by bit. Like watching paint dry in reverse." She smiles against Cara's ear. "Lucky for you, I can give you some of those pieces back. When you're ready."

She doesn't want to get them back.

...she tilts her head. 

"Oh, that's interesting." She runs a hand through Cara's wet hair, tugging slightly. "The pieces of you that are left don't want the rest back. Do you even remember what you're missing? Or is it just..." She waves her free hand vaguely. "Gone. Like it never existed in the first place." She starts walking them toward the edge of the pool, keeping Cara pressed close. "Come on. Out of the water. I want to see how far this goes."

She gets out of the water. "...I think I have all my usual memories."

"Memories, sure. But what about the rest?" She helps Cara out of the pool, then grabs a towel and starts drying her off with rough, efficient movements. "What do you want right now? Not what I tell you to want. What do you want?" She pauses, hands still on Cara's shoulders through the towel. "Can you even tell the difference anymore?"

She frowns, her brow furrowed. 

No response.

"That's what I thought." She wraps the towel around Cara's shoulders, then starts walking her back toward the locker room. "You're hollowed out. Like a chocolate Easter bunny—looks fine from the outside, but..." She raps her knuckles gently against Cara's temple. "Nothing but air in there. Well, not nothing. You can still follow instructions. That's something." She pushes through the locker room door. "Sit on the bench. I'm getting dressed, and then we're leaving."

She really hopes that she's right about the situation that she's in. It would be, pretty bad, if she was wrong about how susceptible this one was. And probably a good idea to avoid too many witnesses. She can get the girl to aspirate in the privacy of her own single.

She's just gonna get a sundress that'll dry out fast on and get her inside as soon as posisble.

She sits obediently.

She steps out the door, beckoning to the tranquil girl. "Follow."

She stands and follows, swaying.

She slips an arm around Cara's waist to steady her, the contact sending that pleasant buzz through her nerves again, a mild vasovagal stim. "There we go. Nice and easy." The morning air is crisp against their damp skin as they exit the rec center. A few early joggers pass by, but no one gives them a second glance—just two girls heading home after a swim. She keeps her voice conversational. "You're lucky I found you first. Another hour and campus security would've hauled you to the med center. They'd have no idea what they'd gotten their hands on."

She's going to go in through the always-open fire door in the back to avoid interacting with any vigilant (ha) front desk denizens, if her new toy can make it up some stairs.

The stairs might in fact be a struggle for her, because she won't pace herself. Does Vera set a manageable pace for a sleepdep'd, starving grad student? 

She doesn't, actually. She takes the stairs at her normal clip and watches with clinical interest as Cara struggles to keep up, breath coming in harsh gasps by the second landing. "Stop wheezing," she says mildly, not slowing down. "It's only three more flights." The fire door slams behind them with a metallic clang. She can feel Cara starting to stumble through their connected arms, but she just tightens her grip and keeps going. If the girl collapses, well—that could be interesting too. "Keep your feet under you. I'm not carrying you."

She stops wheezing, switching to controlled breathing, but at "keep your feet under you", she grabs the railing with her other hand and slows down.

She yanks Cara's arm hard enough to pull her off the railing. "I didn't say stop. I said keep your feet under you." She keeps moving, dragging the girl along. "You can breathe and walk at the same time. Multi-tasking. Very advanced concept, I know." Another flight, another turn. She can feel Cara's pulse hammering through their connected arms, rabbit-quick and getting faster. "Two more floors. Don't pass out."

She attempts to keep pace, but she stumbles as they turn the last corner, falling backwards -

She catches Cara's arm before she can hit the stairs, yanking her upright with a sharp jerk. "No." The word comes out flat, annoyed. "I said don't pass out. That includes falling." She hauls Cara up the last flight, practically lifting her off her feet on the final steps. The fifth floor hallway stretches out before them, mercifully empty at this hour. She doesn't let go of Cara's arm as she fishes out her key card. "Room 517. Almost there. Try not to collapse in the hallway—I'd rather not explain you to the RA."

Nod. Stumblefollow.

The lock beeps green. She shoulders the door open and pulls Cara inside, kicking it shut behind them. The room is sparse—single bed, desk covered in chemistry textbooks and molecular models, a small fridge humming in the corner. She maneuvers Cara to the bed and pushes her down onto it. "Sit. Stay." The contact as she lets go leaves her fingers tingling, that pleasant buzz already fading. She steps back, considering. "You're soaked. And bleeding." She grabs a towel from her closet and tosses it at Cara's face. "Dry yourself off while I figure out what to do with you."

She does her best to towel herself off while seated on the bed, though this does limit the amount of surface area she can effectively towel. 

She watches Cara's halfhearted attempts with the towel, then sighs. "Stand up. Arms out." She grabs the towel back and starts drying Cara off properly, rough and efficient. The contact sends that pleasant buzz through her again, stronger with the increased surface area. She can feel the backlash sloshing between them like water finding its level, her head buzzing. "Your knees are still bleeding. And you smell like chlorine."

Is she really going to put her in the shower after she just dried off. Probably not.

"Take it off and lay on the bed. It's probably better to do this somewhere other people won't see."

Getting out of the swimsuit is a bit of a struggle because Vera tied it so tightly, but she manages, and then lies down.

She watches Cara struggle with the knots, making no move to help. When the girl finally manages to get free and lies down, Vera moves to sit on the edge of the bed, running a finger along one of the raw scrapes on Cara's knee. The blood is already starting to clot. "You really did a number on yourself." She presses down slightly, watching fresh red well up. "This is going to sting."

She leans down and drags her tongue across the wound, tasting copper and chlorine and that electric compatibility. She looks up, studying Cara's face. "Better?"

No response.

"Nothing? Not even a twitch?" She shifts to straddle Cara's thighs, settling her weight down, dress spread around her like the petals of a lily. The skinship makes her heart sing. "You really are hollowed out." She traces a finger along Cara's collarbone, watching for any reaction. "Let's see what else you'll let me do."

She leans down, pressing her mouth to the curve of Cara's clavicle, feeling the pulse there against her lips. "Your heart's still racing. That's something, at least." She bites down, not hard enough to break skin, not on anything too vital, but enough to see a flush of red that she could have, if she tried just a little harder. "Still nothing? God, you're perfect like this."

Perfect and stationary. 

She sits back slightly, studying Cara's vacant expression. The guiding is working—she can feel lanugo hair standing on end, that pleasant electric flow—but the girl underneath her might as well be a mannequin. "You know what? Let's make this more interesting." She shifts her weight, then leans down to whisper directly in Cara's ear. "When I kiss you, you're going to kiss back. Just mirror what I do. Nothing more, nothing less."

She presses her lips to Cara's, gentle at first, testing. The compatibility sings through the contact, stronger now with saliva in the mix. She deepens it slightly, one hand tangling in that blue hair, waiting to see if her new doll can follow even this simple instruction.

She can! Her mouth opens symmetrically, leaning into it -

Perfect. She pulls back after a moment, watching Cara's mouth close in perfect synchrony with hers. Her head is pleasantly buzzing. "Good girl." She traces a thumb along Cara's lower lip. "Now open your mouth and stick out your tongue. Just a little."

She waits for Cara to comply, then presses her own tongue against it, not kissing, just contact. The compatibility practically sparkles at this direct exchange, and she has to suppress a shiver. "Hold still. Don't move until I tell you." She counts to five in her head, savoring the sensation, before pulling back. "Close your mouth. Swallow."

She is getting a little frustrated that she has to keep pulling away to direct the thing, though.

The thing's backlash levels are dropping - she can taste it in the guiding contact, the slight lessening in intensity as they draw closer to each other.

She can feel it too—that gradual equalization, like water finding its level between two vessels. Which means she needs to be careful. Too much guiding and Cara might start getting pieces of herself back, might start wanting things again. And where's the fun in that?

She climbs off Cara and stands, smoothing down her dress. "Sit up. Edge of the bed."

-She does.

"Tell me about what you were doing when whatever happened to you, happened." When she awakened, she means.

"...I was chatting with friends online." 

"And then what?" She circles around to stand behind Cara, running fingers through that blue hair, still damp with chlorine. "Walk me through it. When did you first notice something was wrong?" She leans down, breath warm against Cara's ear. "Be specific. I want details."

She's genuinely curious now—how long has this girl been wandering around campus in this state? Hours? Days? And nobody noticed, or nobody cared enough to do anything about it. Typical.

"Someone asked me to help them on a project. I worked with them on it until my alarm went off and told me to take my meds, which I did, and then my calendar told me to go to my study group, so I did. After spending 30 minutes there, people talked about getting coffee, and someone asked if someone could go pick up orders. I went to get the coffee. You found and kidnapped me." 

"Asked. Told. Asked." She twists a strand of blue hair around her finger. "Not a single decision in there was yours, was it? Just following one instruction after another." She tugs sharply on the hair. "How long? When did you start just... obeying everything?"

She moves around to face Cara again, tilting the girl's chin up with one finger. "And your friends sent you for coffee while you were like this? Either they didn't notice or they didn't care. Which do you think is worse?"

"11 pm last night." no answer. 

"Thirteen hours." She lets out a low whistle. "And you've been wandering around campus all night like this. Following your little alarms and calendar notifications." She drops her hand from Cara's chin. "Did you sleep? Or did you just... sit somewhere until the next instruction came along?"

She walks to her desk, picking up a pen and twirling it between her fingers. "You know what's really funny? In all that time, I'm the only one who noticed. The only one who cared enough to do anything about it." She taps the pen against her lips. "Even if what I'm doing is arguably worse."

"I didn't sleep." 

"Of course you didn't." She sets the pen down and returns to stand in front of Cara. "No one told you to, so why would you?" She reaches out and brushes a thumb under one of Cara's eyes, noting the shadows there. "You're exhausted. Starving. Completely hollowed out. And you'd keep going until you collapsed if I let you."

Sure seems like that, huh. 

She drops her hand and steps back. "Well. That's a decision I get to make now, isn't it?" She moves to her mini-fridge and pulls out a bottle of water. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to drink this. All of it. Then you're going to lie down and sleep for..." She checks her phone. "Four hours. When you wake up, we'll see how much of you is left."

She presses the bottle into Cara's hands. "And if you're very, very lucky, maybe I'll even let you have an opinion about what happens next."

Cara drinks the bottle of water, and lies down on the bed and closes her eyes. 

She watches Cara settle onto the bed, then pulls her desk chair over to sit beside it. Four hours. She sets an alarm on her phone, then leans back to observe. She reaches out to brush a strand off Cara's forehead, letting her fingers linger.

In practice, it's easiest for her to steer when her companion is asleep.

Perhaps unfortunately for Vera:
1. Cara has not used the bathroom in 11 hours
2. Vera has instructed Cara to drink a lot of water in the past few hours

A few minutes after she falls asleep, she wets Vera's bed.

She jerks her hand back as the smell hits her. "Oh, for fuck's sake." She stands abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. Of course. Of course the hollowed-out little puppet wouldn't think to mention needing the bathroom. Why would she? No one told her to.

She stares down at Cara's sleeping form, jaw clenched. Her sheets. Her mattress. She closes her eyes, counts to five, then opens them again. Fine. This is what she gets for not thinking through the logistics of keeping a human pet.

"Wake up." She shakes Cara's shoulder, not gently. "Get up. Now."

-she starts awake at the shake, the blank look in her eyes returning as they open. Up she gets.

"Stand there." She points to a spot by the door, away from the mess. "Don't move." She strips the sheets off the bed with sharp, irritated movements, bundling them into a ball. The mattress underneath is soaked through. Of course it is.

She grabs her laundry basket and shoves the sheets in, then turns back to Cara. "You're going to the showers. Now." She grabs a clean towel from her closet and throws it at the girl, hard enough that she stumbles. "And next time you need to piss? You tell me. I don't care if I have to teach you to bark like a dog to get my attention."

The towel falls to the floor, since she'd been instructed not to move, but when given the showers order she does pick it up.

She looks around. "Where?"

"Down the hall. Third door on the left." She grabs Cara's wrist, squeezing hard enough to leave marks. "And if anyone asks what happened to you? You don't remember. You were sick. You're fine now." She releases her with a shove toward the door. "Go. Wash everything. Use soap. Don't come back until you're clean."

She needs to deal with this mattress. And figure out what the hell she's going to do with a broken toy that requires this much maintenance.

She pauses for a second. "On second thought, wash yourself. Not everything."

Fucking genies.

Cara stumbles the hallway. She's not the only one in the showers, but this early in the morning, nobody talks to her. She washes herself slowly, methodically, using the soap everywhere.  It's rough on her skin and hair. 

It takes her about a half hour.

While Cara's gone, she strips the bed completely, bundling the mattress protector—thank god she had one—into the laundry basket with the sheets. The mattress itself is salvageable, barely. She flips it, sprays it down with the enzyme cleaner she keeps for lab accidents, and cracks the window to let it air out.

Then she sits at her desk and starts making a list. If she's keeping this thing, she needs to be smarter about it. Basic maintenance schedule: bathroom breaks, food, water. Like having a very stupid, very breakable pet. One that feels incredible to touch and that she can mold however she wants.

She checks the time. Thirty-two minutes. The door opens.

She's still wet, holding a mostly dry towel, and she looks dead on her feet. 

"Close the door." She stands and crosses to Cara, plucking the towel from her hands. "Your hair is still soaked." She starts toweling it roughly, not particularly careful about pulling. "Did you at least remember to use conditioner after that soap? No, of course you didn't. I didn't tell you to."

She drops the towel and runs her fingers through the damp tangles, feeling that pleasant buzz of compatibility again as she cups her face. "Sit on the floor. Right here." She points to a spot by her desk chair. "I need to figure out what to do with you, and I think better when I can touch you."

Floor time. She sits, drooping a bit. 

She sits in her desk chair and cards her fingers through Cara's damp hair, working out tangles with little care for whether it hurts. The contact hums between them as she brushes her scalp, that sweet compatibility singing through her nerves.

"Here's the problem," she says conversationally. "You're in hell week. That means you need constant guiding or you'll just... stay like this. Maybe get worse." She tugs a particularly stubborn knot free. "And I have classes. A life. Things that don't involve babysitting a broken doll."

She leans back, keeping one hand resting on Cara's head. "So. Options. I could dump you at the campus health center. They'd figure out what you are eventually. Ship you off to some facility." Her fingers tighten briefly. "Or I could keep you. But that means you need to be a lot less high-maintenance than you are right now."

Those do seem to be the facts of the matter! Cara (unsurprisingly) does not respond. 

She drums her fingers on the arm of her chair, thinking. "Let's start simple. When you need to use the bathroom, you tell me. Say 'I need to use the bathroom.' Try it."

"I need to use the bathroom", the doll says in a monotonous voice. If there's any semantic intent or understanding behind it, it's neither visible nor audible. 

"Good girl. Same thing for being hungry or thirsty. 'I need food,' 'I need water.' Practice those too." She threads her fingers deeper into Cara's hair, scratching lightly at her scalp. The contact feels so nice she has to suppress a shiver. "And when I'm not here, you stay in this room. You sit on the floor by the bed. You don't leave, you don't touch anything, you don't answer the door. Understood?"

She's already thinking ahead. She'll need to set up some kind of feeding schedule, maybe leave water bottles within reach. The bathroom situation is trickier. Maybe she can train her to hold it for longer periods. Or just invest in some rubber sheets.

Instead of her normal lifeless obedience, Cara says "...I don't think I can?" 

She pauses, fingers stilling in Cara's hair. That's interesting. She leans forward slightly, studying Cara's face. "You don't think you can what? Be specific."

"Tell you when I need to go to the bathroom, or need food, or water."  Her face is mostly the usual blank, but her brow is slightly furrowed. 

"Oh." She blinks, then laughs—a sharp, delighted sound. "You can't tell when you need things. That's part of it, isn't it? No access to your own wants." She cups Cara's face between her hands, tilting it up to study her more closely. "You literally don't know you need to piss until it's already happening."

She releases her and sits back, tapping a finger against her lips. "Alright. New plan. Every two hours, you use the bathroom whether you think you need to or not. Every four hours, you drink water. Every six, you eat something." She pauses. "Can you keep track of time? Or is that gone too?"

"It's been more than 6 hours since I last ate."

She looks around for a wall clock.

WHY is she like this.

Probably it's the backlash.

(But who knows? Maybe she's just like this all the time.)

OK. She's normal, she's fine.

"I am going to get you food. What do you... eat."

How the turn tables.

She lists out some meals she's had recently. Seems like she eats: a variety of carb-heavy breakfasts, lots of variety in frozen potato product™, a mixture of fake meat / beans / cheese for proteins.

"Of course you're vegetarian with your blue hair and pronouns." She stands, grabbing her keys from the desk. "Fine. I have leftover pad thai in the fridge. That'll have to do." She pauses at the door, looking back at Cara sitting obediently on the floor. "Actually, no. Stand up. Go to the bathroom first. Third door on the left, remember? Use it, wash your hands, then come straight back here and sit in exactly the same spot."

She watches Cara for a moment longer, then adds, "And don't talk to anyone in the hall. If someone talks to you, you ignore them. Understood?"

There is, for the record, a wall clock. It has ornate filigreed bronzed hands and a cracked plastic dome. The pad thai probably exists also, if she wants to look for it.

She nods, then gets up to head to the bathroom, still naked.

"Put on a swimsuit or clothes or something."

-she looks around for some clothes to put on.

Fluffy sleeved pink robe.

Cara dons the robe and then departs, presumably bathroomwards.

She watches Cara leave, then heads to the communal kitchen. The pad thai is exactly where she left it, still in its takeout container. She dumps it onto a plate and throws it in the microwave, drumming her fingers on the counter while it heats. Three minutes. Four, to be safe.

She grabs a fork and heads back to her room, setting the plate on her desk. She glances at the door, then sits back down in her chair to wait.

Cara returns from the bathroom about 5 minutes later, and sits down where she remembers having sat before, the fluffy pink robe pooling around her.

Does she smell weird

Nope! (The ends of the sleeves look like they got a bit wet?)

She picks up the plate and holds it out. "Eat. Take small bites. Chew completely before swallowing." She watches for a moment, then adds, "Use the fork."

While Cara follows the instructions, she reaches over to roll up the damp sleeves, fingers lingering against the skin of her wrists. The contact sends that pleasant hum through her nerves again. She keeps one hand there, ostensibly to keep the sleeve from falling back down.

Small bite onto fork, fork into mouth, chew, swallow. Repeat until food is gone.

Great. Well, she has to go to class now. She strips and swaps to something more appropriate efficiently, donning wide black pants with lots of buckles, a black cotton blouse, and stompy steel toed boots.

"I'll be back in an hour. Don't break anything."

She sits still, facing the clock.

She actually does go to class. Organic chemistry waits for no one, not even newly-manifested espers with fascinating backlashes.

The clock ticks. Cara's eyes watch it.

The dorm room settles into stillness around Cara's motionless form. Dust motes drift through the morning light streaming from the window, their lazy spiral dance the only movement in the space. The radiator beneath the sill clicks intermittently, expanding and contracting with barely audible metallic pings that punctuate the silence at irregular intervals.

Vera's bed is unmade, comforter twisted into valleys and peaks that cast small shadows across the mattress. A chemistry textbook lies open on her desk, pages slightly bent where she'd been leaning over it earlier, the white paper yellowed at the edges under the harsh fluorescent desk lamp she'd forgotten to turn off. The lamp hums with a frequency just below conscious hearing, a whisper from atc crawling into her ears.

On the windowsill, a dying spider plant droops brown-tipped leaves toward the floor. Its soil has pulled away from the edges of the pot, creating a narrow moat of empty space around the compacted earth. Water stains on the wood beneath suggest this neglect is habitual.

The institutional carpet shows traffic patterns worn into its beige fibers. There are threadbare paths between bed and door, bed and desk, door and bathroom. Small debris has accumulated in the less-traveled corners: a hair tie, a pen cap, several dust bunnies that shift slightly each time the heating system cycles on.

The clock's second hand moves with mechanical precision. The minute hand lurches forward in barely perceptible increments. The hour hand might as well be stationary.

"...and so we see that the nucleophile attacks the electrophilic carbon, displacing the leaving group in a concerted mechanism..."

Someone's stomach growls audibly. A phone buzzes on silent mode, its vibration carrying through the wooden desk surface. Outside, a maintenance vehicle beeps as it backs up, the sound filtering through sealed windows designed to keep the world at bay.

The clock on the wall ticks steadily toward the end of the period.

Cara would be getting sore from sitting in one place without moving this long. Her hair is drying out, but she should really change. There are clumped strands of pink fiber clinging to the damp creases and folds of her legs and belly, under her arms and in her elbows. Her eyes and nose are irritated - there's some kind of chemical offgassing from the mattress. The sun is very bright.

"The stereochemistry here is particularly important to understand. Note how the configuration inverts completely..." A student in the third row clicks their pen repeatedly, fascinated by the catch of the latching mechanism.

Click, click, pause, click, click, pause

-until someone behind them clears their throat pointedly. The clicking stops. Papers rustle as notebooks close and laptops hibernate. The heating system cycles on with a mechanical wheeze.

Everyone is intolerable. Thank god that's over.

Her butt is patterned with the stippled twill of the carpet, and her arm has an awkward red weal from pressing up against the sharp corner of the pine desk.

The keycard lock beeps twice and the door opens.

She careens in, catching the edge of the doorframe with her hand to do a little swing to redirect her momentum, and tosses a loose binder onto the desk where it clatters against the lamp.

"I'm home! Did you miss me?"

Cara hasn't moved from where Vera left her. She's looking at the clock, and doesn't turn to look at the door, when it opens. 

She stares at Vera when addressed, but she doesn't seem to have an answer to the question. 

"Of course you didn't!"

She giggles and crosses to Cara in two quick steps.

"Stand up."

She doesn't wait for compliance, before hooking a finger under Cara's chin, tilting her face up. The contact sends that familiar pleasant buzz through her nerves. "Do you want to hear about Nucleophilic Substitution?" The capital letters are audible. The transom creaks and the door closes.

She tries to stand up, but then puts weight on a leg that's fallen asleep, and topples towards Vera. 

She steps back, letting her fall. "If the nucleophile or the molecule undergoing attack have too many substituents or substituents which are too bulky, you can't have a reaction, which makes sense in retrospect."

She tries to catch herself, but doesn't do a very good job.

She stays on the ground once she hits it.

"Do you know anything about steric hindrance?" She toys with the girl's face with her boot.

"No." 

"What does the name mean to you?"

"... nothing?" 

"Well, it's when molecules can't get close enough to react because they're too bulky." She presses the toe of her boot against Cara's cheek, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to squish the skin. "Kind of like how you can't get your shit together enough to stand up properly."

She shifts her weight, considering. "You know what? I changed my mind. Lick it." She taps the leather against Cara's lips. "The boot."

She licks the boot methodically, with long strokes of her tongue.

She's kinda wondering whether she could keep the girl in this state for an extended period, as long as she just didn't touch her. She probably has enough dental dams.

The girl certainly doesn't seem to be likely to object. Lick lick lick.

Just a little kick in the teeth :) As a treat for her.

Well, she wasn't told to stop licking, so she doesn't.

Cute face. 

The sun is very bright.

She glances up at the clock, then back to the boot, which at this point is coated with her saliva.

Her arms and legs are shaking.

The clock says it's been an hour and fifteen minutes.

Licking. Trembling. Her eyes are drooping.

"Did I say that you could pass out?"

"Do you want to?"

...she looks up at Vera, but has no reply.

It's very cute how she can't tell. She's going to make the bed now, though. She's not a monster, just a sadist^{[citation needed]}.

Cara tries to follow the boot, but her mobility seems to be suffering. 

Scooping her up and tucking her into bed.

Cara is now in bed! 

She shuffles until she can see the clock. Her eyes are barely open. 

"I forgot to tell you to sleep while I was gone so you're going to sleep now. Rest up, doll."

Out like a light.

She pulls the covers up to Cara's chin and watches her for a moment. The girl's breathing evens out immediately, mechanical as a metronome. Her face goes slack in a way that normal sleep doesn't quite manage.

Vera settles at her desk with the chem textbook, but her attention keeps drifting. She drums her fingers against the wood, considering. She's already feeling pretty qwoppy about the whole thing, but at this point, what is she going to do about it?

It's a stormy January afternoon, and though her lord is well-protected in a fine winter outfit, Cara's simple maidsgarb offers her scant protection from the harsh winds. 

Still, she was ordered to follow, and follow she does, down the poorly-trodden path towards the center of the woods.  (She does not shiver. If Lord Vera looks back, and sees her shivering, she will surely be punished. She will endure.)

"Stop", says her lord, and Cara stops, at the near bank of the green river. (She has to try harder not to shiver, here, but surely they will not remain here for too long - Lord Vera is a busy woman, after all.)

"Remove your clothes", her lord orders, and when Cara freezes in shock, she is slapped for her impudence. "Now." 

She stumbles at the force of the blow. She knows better than to take time to recover - that was a warning. Her next punishment will be much worse.

She strips, quietly, efficiently, the tears running down her face masked perfectly by the rain drenching her body. She does not let herself shiver, though she feels the cold seeping into her bones, and she is frightened. She places her clothes gently on the ground, once she has them removed. They aren't her property to discard carelessly, after all.

Her lord looks her up and down, smirking. "Good. Now. Climb this tree." She points to a pine tree with a trunk reaching out perilously over the river.

Cara climbs. The bark is rough against her bare skin, and the freezing rain makes for slow and painful going. She only makes it ten feet out from the shore before she hears her lord shout "Stop!" in that loud, commanding voice that brokers no rejection or negotiation.

"Hang from the branch", her lord says, and Cara knows that this time, she is being disposed of. Still - she obeys. What else can she do? She drops to her knees, grabbing the branch with both arms, and then, still clinging onto it tightly, slides her legs off.

Her lord doesn't give her any more orders, just watches and waits. 

It's so cold. She's so scared. She lets herself shiver, now, and lets out a sob, too.

Eventually, her arms are shaking too much to hold on, and a gust of wind sends her tumbling into the freezing water below.

She flips a page in her textbook, the sound sharp in the quiet room. The girl's breathing has taken on an odd quality - not quite the rhythm of normal REM sleep, something else entirely. She glances over, notes the way Cara's fingers twitch against the sheets.

The equations on the page blur together. She pushes back from the desk, chair legs scraping against linoleum, and pads over to the bed. Reaches out, then stops, hand hovering an inch from Cara's shoulder. The girl's face is slack, but there's movement behind her eyelids, rapid and frantic.

What should she do next?

1. Wake her up and guide her. You can still fix this.
2. Maybe let her dream a little longer?
3. Bathroom, now.

c. Bathroom, now.

She scoops up a hand towel from a drawer and trots over to the bathroom, turning on the left faucet. She waits for it to run cold enough that her wrist aches when she dips her fingers in it, and then fills the towel till it's bloated with freezing liquid.

When she gets back into the room, she folds it, and drops the towel over the girl's face. It covers her eyes, mouth and nose.

The dream ends. Her eyes open, under the washcloth. She doesn't move. (She can't breathe).

She's going to go back to studying for a bit.

Cara tries to breathe, but there's water in the way. 

She passes out.

She watches. Counts seconds. At one hundred and fifty, she peels back a corner of the towel. Just enough to see one eye, wide and glassy. "Breathe through your mouth. It's just a little water."

Cara is not conscious! Her body is trying to breathe for her, but it doesn't seem to be working out super well?

She pulls the towel off entirely and tosses it toward the corner. Then she waits.

She gasps once, twice, and then startles awake.

Kiss!

She is sure being kissed right now.

She pulls back after a moment, thumb brushing against Cara's jaw. The contact feels like coming home after a long day.

"Better?" Her voice is soft, would be almost gentle if it weren't so predatory.

Headtilt. No answer.

She traces a finger along Cara's collarbone, watching the way her eyes track the movement without really focusing. The touch leaves a trail of that pleasant guiding sensation.

Cara continues to not react to the guiding, of course.

She's kinda getting into it, fingers digging into her soft skin and leaving red raised weals of nail tracks in her sides.

Conveniently, the body of an awakening esper heals quickly - a side effect of the same arcane system that gives espers symmetrical, well-muscled, proportioned-to-their-taste bodies, and gives them the eye and hair colors they want the most. 

(Of course, that's a slow process, taking place over the course of a week. For now, it is easy to leave marks on Cara - she just lets it happen.)

She settles back on her heels, considering. The girl's eyes have that glassy quality again, pupils dilated in the dim light from the desk lamp. She pulls down the blinds and reaches over to click it off, leaving them in darkness broken only by the hallway light seeping under the door.

"You know what? Let's try something different." She stands, padding over to her desk drawer. The rustle of plastic. A lighter's click.

...She looks at the clock and then stands up, heading towards the door.

She kicks out and trips the girl but doesn't otherwise move to stop her.

-she stumbles, but doesn't fall. When she rights herself, she turns to look at Vera in confusion. "...It's been two hours?"

"So go?"

she leaves.

The room smells like sweat and fear and something else. She sits on the edge of the bed, runs a hand through her hair. The sheets are still warm.

She's been gone a while.

She should probably be tracking her down. Making sure she hasn't collapsed in a stairwell somewhere. But the dorm room is quiet, and her textbook is open on the desk, and there's a part of her that wants to see how long the girl will keep following that last instruction.

She checks the time on her phone. Flips to the next page. The chemical structures blur together.

Yeah she's not coming back on her own. 

...Is that the sound of someone talking in the hallway that she can hear with her esper hearing? An "Are you okay?", perhaps?

She closes her textbook with a sigh. The voices in the hallway are getting louder—concerned, questioning. She slips her feet back into her boots and heads for the door.

The hallway is lit by harsh fluorescents. There's a small cluster of people around a figure slumped against the wall near the communal bathroom. Of course.

"She's my"

1. "My roommate" - Simple. Clean. No one questions why I know where she is at all hours or why I'm the one handling her... episodes. Plus it's technically true, which makes the lie easier to maintain.
2. "She's my responsibility" - Vague enough to shut down follow-up questions, but heavy enough that people don't push. Implies authority without having to explain where it comes from. Perfect for when someone's being nosy.
3. "My study partner" - Academic, boring, explains the time we spend together. If anyone sees her coming and going from my room at weird hours, well, we're cramming for exams. College students do stupid things for their grades.
4. "She's mine" - Honest. Direct. Let them wonder what exactly that means. It could be fun to watch people try to figure out if we're dating or if it's something else entirely. The ambiguity is delicious.
5. "My pet project" - Technically accurate - I am studying her responses, aren't I? Sounds altruistic to anyone listening, like I'm tutoring some struggling freshman. But we both know what kind of project she really is.
6. "My sister" - Family explains everything and nothing. Why I'm protective, why I know her so well, why I'm the emergency contact. People don't question family dynamics too closely - every family has their weird shit. This causes more trouble than it's worth if she sticks around - don't say it.

f. "My sister,"

fuck fuck fuck

She pushes through. "I've got her."

She can roll this back later? Maybe?

Cara looks up at Vera.

The people around her look confused and worried. "Is she okay? She wasn't responding to our questions."

"She gets these episodes sometimes. Blood sugar thing." She crouches down, slides an arm under Cara's shoulders. The contact sends that pleasant guiding sensation through her palm. "Thanks for looking out for her. I'll get her sorted."

The small crowd shifts, uncertain. One of them, a girl from class, she thinks, frowns. "Should we call-"

"No, really, it's fine. Happens all the time." She helps Cara to her feet, keeping her voice light, casual. Nothing to see here. "Come on. Let's get you some orange juice."

She gets up obediently, putting plenty of weight on Vera.

Vera gets some odd looks, but nobody moves to stop her.

With her esper senses, she does hear one of them mutter "They really don't look like sisters..."

She steers them down the hallway, keeping her arm firmly around Cara's waist. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows as they walk.

"Almost there," she says, comfortingly. Her fingers find the edge of Cara's robe where it's slipped, skin against skin. Buzz.

She follows obediently, of course.

Her steps are noticeably more stable than they were a few hours ago - seems like the food and nap did her some good.

(The students return to their busy lives.)

She kicks the door shut behind them once they're back in the room. The lock clicks.

"Sit." She gestures at the bed, then moves to her desk drawer. There's rustling as she digs through it, finally pulling out a small glass bottle. The label's been peeled off.

She sits on the bed, glancing up at the clock before looking back to Vera.

She uncaps the bottle and takes a swig, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. The liquid burns going down. She sets it on the desk and crosses to the bed, standing close enough that Cara has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.

"Open your mouth."

She obediently opens wide.

She leans down and releases her accumulated spit, watching it land on Cara's tongue. Her thumb brushes the corner of the girl's mouth, the contact sending that familiar buzz through her fingertips.

"Swallow."

She swallows, trying to keep her mouth open as much as possible during the process.

Yay! Guiding!

She's being guided! She still has a lot of backlash.

She traces her thumb down to Cara's chin, tilting it up. The room is quiet except for their breathing and the distant hum of the heating system.

"Good girl."

She's very obedient!

She steps back, considering. The girl's eyes are still that vacant, glassy quality - not quite there, not quite gone. She picks up the bottle from the desk and takes another swig, swishing it around her mouth.

"Stand up. Turn around."

She stands and turns, her back to Vera.

She moves closer, runs her fingers along the back of Cara's neck where the hair is short and downy soft. The touch is light, clinical.

"Eyes closed. Count to thirty. Then turn around."

Under her breath, she murmurs "One, two, three..."

She moves silently to her desk drawer, pulls out a small glass vial. The liquid inside is clear. She uncaps it, tilts it back, holds it in her mouth. The burn is different from the alcohol - sharper, chemical.

She waits.

"...twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty."

She turns around, eyes still closed.

She steps forward, close enough that Cara would feel her breath if she weren't holding it. Close enough to see the flutter of pulse at her throat. She leans in and presses her mouth against Cara's, releasing the liquid in a slow trickle.

Her hand comes up to grip Cara's jaw, keeping her in place.

It burns in her throat. (She doesn't react, of course.)

She pulls back just enough to watch Cara's throat work as she swallows. Her thumb traces the line of her jaw, feeling the muscles move under skin.

"Now open your eyes."

Vacant, as usual.

She studies those empty eyes for a long moment.

"Chemists call it diethyl ether, as if naming it could tame it. As if syllables could contain what burns like winter lightning on the tongue. I know its history: the sweet sleep it once brought to surgical tables, the gentle drift into nothingness before they found safer ways to steal consciousness. Now it lives in laboratories, patient in its glass prisons, waiting. A few drops would kiss like fire. A sip would pull you under—not forever, just long enough. Just enough to float away from this particular moment, this particular choice, this particular weight of being a Person.
It promises temporary erasure without permanent consequence. A chemical vacation. The burn would fade, the dizziness would pass, but for those precious minutes you could be anywhere else, anyone else.
Even the bottle feels significant in my palm - cool glass holding something that could remake the next hour of a life. Not death, just... distance. A chemical intermission.
Sweet ether. Honest ether. It won't lie to me about what it is or what it will do. Unlike everything else, it keeps its promises: burn, float, return. Simple as breathing. Simpler than breathing.
Just this once, to see what temporary feels like."

She drops her hand. "Sit back down. Cross your legs."

She obeys, though she sure seems woozier than she did when she stood up!

She watches Cara's unsteady descent to the bed, the way her body lists slightly to one side before correcting. The ether's working exactly as advertised - that beautiful chemical distance already creeping in at the edges.

"Look at me." She waits for those glassy eyes to find hers. "You're going to stay right there until I tell you otherwise. Hands on your knees. Back straight."

She crosses to her desk, considering.

Hands go to her knees. She straightens her back and tries very hard not to droop, though the ether is making that harder every second.

She pulls out her phone and sets a timer. Twenty minutes. The ether won't last much longer than that, not at that dose. She sets the phone on the desk where she can see it, then moves to stand behind Cara.

"Count backwards from one hundred. Out loud. Slowly." Her fingers brush the nape of Cara's neck, just enough contact to keep the guiding flowing. "If you lose track, start over."

"One Hundred. Ninety-Nine. Ninety-Eight. Ninety-Seven. Ninety-Six. Ninety-Fiii... Ninety-Five. Ninety-Four. Ninety-Threeeeeeeeee. Ninety-Twooooooooooooo...."

She appears to be struggling.

She circles around to face Cara, watching her struggle with the simple task. Those stretched-out numbers, the way her mouth can't quite form the shapes right anymore. Perfect.

"Start over." She keeps her voice level, clinical. "From one hundred. And if you slur again, start over."

The timer shows seventeen minutes left. Plenty of time.

"One hundred, Ninety N-niiiine, N- One hundred, Ninety-Nine, Nineeeeety Eii. One Hundred, Ninetyyyyyy - One Hunnnnnd - One Huuuundre - One Hundred, Ninety Nine, Ninety Eight, Ninety Seveeeeeee"

She reaches out and presses two fingers to Cara's lips, stopping the slurred counting.

"Shh." She keeps her fingers there for a moment, watching those vacant eyes try to focus. "New game. Blink once for yes, twice for no. Understand?"

There's a noticeable pause before she blinks once.

She withdraws her fingers slowly, dragging them across Cara's lower lip as she goes.

"Good. Are you dizzy?" She watches those unfocused eyes, waiting. The timer shows twelve minutes. The ether should be peaking right about now.

One blink for yes.

"Do you know where you are?"

She circles around behind Cara again, letting her fingertips trail across the girl's shoulders. The contact is light but constant - just enough to keep the connection alive while she waits for an answer.

Looooong pause.

...Two blinks.

She pauses her circling, fingers stilling on Cara's shoulder. Interesting.

"Good girl. Being honest." She moves to stand in front of Cara again, tilting her chin up with one finger. "Do you know who I am?"

The timer shows ten minutes. Still plenty of time to play.

Blink. Blink.

She lets out a soft laugh. "No? That's alright." Her thumb strokes along Cara's jaw, maintaining that gentle contact. "I'm the one taking care of you right now. That's all you need to know."

She glances at the timer. Eight minutes. The ether should be starting its slow fade soon.

"One more question, and then we'll be done with this game. Are you feeling scared?"

Loooong pause, and then she. Shrugs.

"No?" Her thumb traces along Cara's jawline, considering. "That's alright. I'm Vera. Your sister, remember?"

She lets that sink in for a moment, watching those unfocused eyes. The ether's doing its job beautifully - that perfect chemical fog making everything negotiable.

"Say it. Say 'Vera is my sister.'"

"Veerraaaa is myyy siiiiisssssssssssster."

She can:

1. Still make it out of this in a normal way
2. Make it worse

b. Make it worse

...Fine