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."

When she gets back, Cara is sitting in the same place on the floor, eyes barely open, exhaustion clear on her face. She's vaguely looking in the direction of the wall clock, and doesn't turn to look at the door when Vera enters.