TESTIMONY COLLECTION 727111: Deer Girl

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The Garden of Eden exists in every universe, for those caring enough to go find her.

xexnoncores & AstersQuill

This article contains CWs for: gore.

TESTIMONY COLLECTION 727111: Deer Girl by xexnoncores and AstersQuill

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Featuring Black Queen Gamma, Black Queen Mu, LAN, and SparkleBlack DawnQueen

TESTIMONY COLLECTION 727111

Deer Girl

General Dissemination Encouraged

March 19th, 2017 (Average Aggregate Standard Multiverse Gregorian Calendar Date)

From the beginning of everything, there have always been those who undo. Not destroy—there exists a calmer alternative to destruction I like to posit as “demaking”—to me, the destruction of something requires three important ingredients. Malice of intent, the absence of use, and the capability to cause despair. Absent of this throuple, the act of denaturing a cosmic bond is simply the unraveling of its nature into a newer level of existence, one which is no less useless even if it may no longer occupy its former level of glamor.

Our subject today has none of these qualities. She is one of these many demakers—of the technological variety, I may add, bringing along a bonus life-energy power that enthralls many of my sisters. Let us refer to her as “Deer Girl”, as she has many designations (SCP-166, Meri, Meridiana Epon Clef, Gaia of the Garden, etc.)

Deer Girl has proven so far to be a valuable friend to my sisters and our allies. Her ability to gradually revert electronics into their primitive states has saved a total of twelve Black Queens across the multiverse, most of who whom were either housed adjacent to her for interrogations or were a part of SCP Foundation breaches facilitated by her abilities. Her propensity for knowledge makes for good company, serving as a valuable shelter in a storm for our lonely souls hopping through the multiverse. Though remember she is often a teenager, sometimes just a child—you must treat her as a person to be freed, not a puppet to perform for you. Once that has been accomplished, I highly recommend finding a Serpent’s Hand cell which will welcome her, after you spend at least some time learning which one will suit her best. The one in my universe likes books—I still go back to her sometimes to ask for recommendations.

Be warned however, that some Deer Girls can undo not just technology but magic as well. This is an extremely rare variant (we’ve only found three so far) but I felt it important to note for our more magically-inclined sisters. Always be ready to warp away from her at a moment’s notice—I’ve attached some sigils for that very on the back of this paper here. (They’re one time use only, so memorize them well.)

Without further ado, I present a sample of Deer Girl encounters collected from some of my closest sisters. May you find luck in your journeys, whoever is reading this, whatever purpose you are chasing.

— Black Queen Gamma

Universe XJS-872868L: Thanks to Gamma for having me. Swell gal she is, big sweetheart underneath her frills, lace, and purple prose (sorry, it’s true!).

My experiences with the Deer Girl are largely within the standard deviation of instances. Two hooves, big-ass antlers, blonde hair and leaf-green eyes—she’s a beautiful kid, reminds me of my adopted sister who died of grief (literally, she was cursed) when my dad left my mom.

And she acts a lot like her too. Religious, prays the rosary every night, had a statue of St. Peter and St. John in her first room at the Foundation; when the antlers shed, it’s really hard for me not to wince. I have dreams when things get rough that she and my sister are in the same room, chatting up a storm, totally ignorant of their fathers and the havoc they wreaked. The women they left behind. The selfish of most selfish hearts—ugh, I’ll stop now. I shouldn’t ramble much in these, it’s bad form.

Yeah, Deer Girl has a father. Allegedly. (Sometimes she wants to believe she was an immaculate conception, but even Jesus had an earthly father). I don’t know nothing about him, so I imagine he’s not that important in the grand cosmic scheme of things.

I had to help mine escape because she was a sluggard when we were busting out of containment. Tripped over herself, covered her ears at the breach alarms—it was an almost pitiful sight if she wasn’t the one dismantling every wire and breaker box they had. Pop they all went, bursting open with the pinkest of roses—had I had the time, I would have stopped to smell them, as y’all know how much I love gardening—but I digress. We were out of there in no time, pow-pow-pow to those security guards and into a van where her powers slowly ate away at the tracking systems.

This was inevitably a double-edged sword. When we got twenty miles out from the nearest town with a pulse, the car gave out, exploding into an oasis of green. She insisted praying once that happened, saying she needed to lest some saint look down upon her, which I still don’t entirely get. I never questioned her faith, but how can you be magic and believe in God? Not practice magic, no—Deer Girl was practically leaking magic outta her pores! Isn’t the man upstairs supposed to hate that kind of shite?

Whatever her deal with that was, I managed to open up a Way with her help. She’d never done it before, but was surprisingly successful at channeling the tricky-dink polarity needed to keep them steady. We hopped quickly, landing all the way into Little Havana.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the face she made when she first looked over that rickshaw place. Alcohol being served openly, poker being played beneath the statues of St. Cajetan, hot (and hot as in spicy) food being handled so openly that the eyes began watering.

She broke down crying. Crying from being overwhelmed, from the noise, from the dog-headed Rum Runners staring at her from a distillery window.

We headed outta there with some empanadas in our hands (bought because damn, you really don’t think well when you’re hungry) and managed to check ourselves into a year-long lease from my paying upfront.

And since then, we’ve been here eight months so far. She’s going to church now, made some friends (she really likes this weird preacher-gangster nicknamed Wheels), and I think is getting ready to get her first job? It’s helping out that priest with his garden using her magic, but Little Havana really prizes its fresh chili peppers and beans. The guy practically begged her when he figured out why his chapel was filled with daffodils every Sunday and Wednesday.

I feel at peace now, knowing she’s safe. I’ve calmed down a lot in such a short span of time, don’t find myself snapping at random things no more. You just get this warm, fuzzy feeling in your heart watching someone you saved interact with a community, hugging you when she comes home, asking you questions about what the future should look like, how you’d handle something, etc. I feel proud knowing she’s gotten into the hearts of the people of this colorful town, digging for charm where most would find only coldness. That’s my girl!

Should I make this a permanent thing? Normally a Black Queen never settles, but who is gonna understand her better than me? Her deadbeat absentee dad? The men in her life who will inevitably abandon her? No shot.

— Black Queen Mu

The ????? Universe: For those new to our classification system, this is a universe which resists all bijective nomenclative attempts. Or in laymen’s terms, we’re stuck with “?????” as the best name until further notice. We’re still not sure why, but we believe it has something to do with The Serpent of the Library interfering with our instruments.

We initially thought, therefore, that this Deer Girl may lead us to some clues about that, as we had been investigating this universe for oddities related to its thaumo-blackbody radiation footprint. Because her magic works on chlorophyll-fueled organisms, we assumed if we traced it back far enough using thaumotology we could accurately track what magic structure it was working off of. Using the third dimension’s laws of free systems, it wouldn’t be hard then to find out what was ticking off the Serpent so much.

We had a simple deal when I reached her. In exchange for her freedom from the Jailors she’d stay with me for five months to undergo some non-invasive tests. These were different from what those fascists were doing by virtue of the fact I was letting her keep her autonomy—“just give me an hour of your time every day, and you can come and go as you please in the Three Portlands.” Exactly as I said it.

She had one condition: it wasn’t just her being freed, but this girl named Hana Thompson who did weird stuff with cameras. She was designated SCP-105, and housed in the cell next to her.

Easy enough, right? It was. Getting them out was a piece of cake, and we landed in the Three Portlands in no time. I had them stay with my anartist acquaintances for a few days until I shuffled them into my condo, just to get their freedom jitters out. Couldn’t have Deer Girl getting so excited she broke my equipment before I got a chance to use it. (Which, given Hana, was almost a given. Teenagers, am I right?)

Test after test kept failing. She tried her best, performed a lot of summoning circles for me, and her ground up fur produced the best cantrip ink, but nothing. Nada. Zilch. Every time I felt like I was tapping into the wavelength of this universe my mind started to melt, my body began dissolving into patches of icy darkness that were minor at first, but my forceful attempts exacerbated them greatly.

Deer Girl and Hana ended up by my side for a lot longer for than I told them they had to. The former had to tend to my wounds while the latter just…refused to not watch her. Her pale eyes tracked her every movement, her every cervitaur step around me. It was like she was entranced by a spell, which I almost thought was the case (my second guess was a trauma response) until a few weeks after I left the testing room I heard them…making some noises.

I’ll admit, it’s funnier now than it was in the moment. Deer Girl and Hana were trying to push themselves into one of my tiny supply closets and ended up knocking over a dozen of my beakers and three of my distillation setups instead. How lucky it was that Deer Girl had hooves to crush what wasn’t broken even further. I really shouldn’t have startled them, but I thought Black Queen Lambda had gotten hurt somehow again with another faulty Way.

Once we finally cleaned everything up, I told them I was cutting the tests short. Best I not interrupt young love or break more expensive setups on what was definitely a net-zero worth-it effort. I sent them on their way with three grand USD each to a good friend to compensate them for their troubles, and to hopefully jumpstart their lives a bit. I don’t know what work they could have gotten in the Three Portlands, but now it wasn’t my problem anymore. I needed a new methodology for my original conundrum, and they were only going to get in the way.

So that’s the end of that, right?

Well, three years later I got a call from my contact who told me that Hana was killed in a hit-and-run, with Deer Girl kidnapped back at her apartment.

I remember dropping my phone when she told me that, crying like a whelped dog. We suspected the mafia at first, but when me and my sisters began investigating, something was wrong. Very wrong.

A man named Chaz Ambrose apparently had been inquiring about her existence for a while. The why was simple—he wanted to serve her in his restaurant. But why? His dragonling (business and personal) partner Marius complicated our efforts by being elusive, an experienced thaumaturge, and hard to kidnap. Both sent out no less than five PIs to track Deer Girl down, we found out. Five.

We had to work double-time just to make sure she was okay. Not only because her life was on the line, but because eventually Chaz began acting strangely. Off-the-mark for his usual standard deviation of behavior. Yeah he’s a weirdo chef, he serves food that can eat you back, but this was different. Something was distinctly off about the way he spoke of the situation, about how careful he was, how much money he’d dumped into finding her, etc. Chaz Ambrose usually isn’t this rich, so who was he working for?

We found our answer out in London, with Deer Girl in a 5x5x5 shipping box. She was wretchedly filthy, her antlers snapped and bleeding with bloody roses. Her body was hard to make out from the golden blood dripping from her wounds, her bruises glowing like battered stars.

And I smelled the faintest hint of darkness that staggered me once. Only the faintest—but its intentions were there. The universe’s heartbeat was moving to whoever was behind this story.

God, I wanted to vomit right there. I almost did, until I heard Chaz arguing with someone a floor beneath me. His voice bounced around the walls with anxiety, every syllable a nasally, high-pitched drag towards someone who sounded like their heart was made of pure, concentrated, unabashed egoism.

“I’ve waited long enough, Chaz, I’ll eat her raw if I have to. I must know if her mouthfeel is like that of venison or a human person’s.”

I didn’t recall it at the time because of my panic, but that voice belonged to Iris Darke. I do not have to say any more regarding her, any good Black Queen knows the Iris Darke of this universe is a number one nuisance for a reason—nor does her filthy, prissy, privileged ass deserve a second more of my beautiful thought-space. I would spit on this paper and rub her name out if I could.

But unfortunately, I must succumb to this landlord because there was no doubt in my mind she was the one after Deer Girl. And for such a cruel, senseless, pitiful reason! All of this wanton violence for a curiosity, a perverse little hunger that could have been satiated by something less sapient.

And Hana…I liked her a lot. I wonder if Iris ate her too sometimes, but it’s best that you, dear sister, don’t dwell on the possibility. She’s a bunch of hot air, a cannibal in a billion-dollar suit because she has nothing else going in her life.

Serendipitously for me, I managed to get a Way open and shoved Deer Girl in, crate and all. We landed safely in the Library without issue, greeted by its usual staff who chided us for disrupting their hourly rechecking sessions.

Obviously, I yelled at those big bugs, as I had no patience for their woeful routines. I dragged Deer Girl out, who had fainted from shock at this point into a crevice we could safely hunker down in, and just waited.

I waited as I used a spell to slowly invigorate her, contemplating if I should use my hypodermic needle full of ambrosia ichor. I always keep it on me for times like this.

No, I couldn’t. There’s no way to know how she’d react to that, especially if SparkleBlack DawnQueen is to be believed on what she can become.

Eventually, I found him. The Library’s firebrand, it’s self-proclaimed oldest resident weirdo peacock-parrot-owl hybrid anthroid with a banjo—the Sojourner.

Now, we all know he’s a crazy bastard. Wilder than is good for anyone with half a mind except when he decides to be weirdly solemn all of a sudden—but there’s no denying he’s a good parent. Hundreds of lost souls can claim him as an adoptive father in some way, including my good sisters BlackQueen.WAD and Black Queen Athena Tsunami Heart-Under-Knife Starlight.

With him watching over her…I think we can write her off as safe, and saved for now. I can only hope she can recover from this myriad of tragedies eventually, and find her own Eden in the Library.

Because there’s no one who deserves it more than her, honestly.

— Lan

Universe 82MM-BBJK-727-09C: Howdy, y’all! Glad to contribute to this. A fount of knowledge on a cute little fuzzball like Deer Girl is what makes life worth living as a Black Queen. I wouldn’t have it any other way that I’m making sure y’all get what you need.

Anyhoo, mine’s actually pretty far off standard deviation. How did we manage to calculate standard deviation for her? Not sure. She’s got a very unique traceable universal imprint signature, which helps, but I still don’t understand the particulars of the math. And I invented the damn equipment to track that signature, you know! I’m in my lab all day engineering stuff for y’all and you go and outmath me—phooey, I say, phooey!

Haha, I’m just kidding. I really appreciate my tech being built upon. Even if she can’t appreciate it much, but I’m not sure mine would want that anyway.

Why? Well, where do I start. I guess at the beginning—I rescued mine two centuries ago, at least according to Library time. February 12th, 1999, the date’s clear in my mind still. Time differentiation is a nasty thing when traveling between universes, they all move at different paces—but I digress. It was a clean rescue, managed to get her to transported to a batch of local star-worshippers I knew who took her in and told me they’d make sure she would be safe.

I sadly didn’t have the time to go back and check in on her due to the Eleventh Occult War starting up in my own universe—but when I got back I was absolutely shocked by what she’d become, not even mentioning the place she now called home.

It was fucking Eurtec of all places. You know, the Book-Burner’s stronghold hypercapitalistic hellscape? The one which feels like every cyberpunk novel came to life and all had disgustingly slimy babies with each other to create one of the worst cities in the multiverse?

The entire place was unrecognizable when I landed. Every scrap of metal in the city had decayed into some kind of living mechanism, whose roots reached to the sky and sunk themselves down deep within the Earth’s core. Every street was so green it was blinding, every building so colorful with trees, flowers, and fruit that rainbows paled in comparison. I think they’d blush actually, seeing so much chlorophyll and anthocyanins flowing like rivers where polluted water once was.

And that wasn’t even the city’s most crowning achievement. Put your ear to the ground and you’d hear every vegetable, grass, stamen and stem whispering of some great Goddess, whose antlers had grown so tall they’d pierced Heaven and impaled God, bringing Eden back down to Earth where it always belonged.

I thought it was simply a trick of the magic saturating the place, but…then I saw the hole.

The hole where all of the people were.

How many I recognize, I don’t remember. I knew a few faces, those former worshippers, but some were my own sisters. Their black hair shined like onyx as they bowed in a hole a mile deep, to a massive, eight-legged Deer Girl as big as a dragon. She definitely did not look like that when I saw her first—she only had half as many legs.

But did it matter? I could see in her eyes as they opened with the deepest, most beautiful brown irises in the universes that she was happy, whatever she did and whatever happened to Eurtec. Each one watched her worshippers with a devilish want, a curiosity that was only satiated by the power flowing up from her heart.

What was she thinking down there? Did she notice me at all, recognize my presence in any way in the city, or had I faded to a memory of a memory in her new transcended mind?

I turned my eyes away after an hour of watching, because it was all too much for a country girl like me. For once, nature was gnawing at my rope and I couldn’t take it. I needed to retain some of my humanity before I lost myself to her.

But, I will leave you, dear reader, with a chant about her, in case you too yearn to be overcome by such an ethereal force. I understand the desire completely.

A songbird sang to me one day,
sang of a child born in clay,
born on the banks where nothing grows,
a child who sung to the world below.

Taken root in a world reclaimed,
a world in which Gaia was chained,
Gaia who sings to the hidden groves,
to the child who sung to the world below.

They say in the dark of the quiet night,
where the tremulous dark flexed the might,
flexed as reclaimed were Eurtec's rusted boughs,
that soured the child's song in the world below.

Rot reclaims all if it is left unchecked,
left to the mercy of the fawn spot-specked,
of which mercy was not given, which mercy not goes,
to a world so uncaring to the child below.

Until nothing remained, nothing at all,
nothing of the Burners or the friends they call,
nor of the goddess, nor the new wind that blows,
and sings of the praises of the child below.

She once a child, who sung to the world down below,
She now deific, unrelenting as snow.