Laura | X-23-23 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shoplifter) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
riverview2017-10-09 05:01 am
shoplifter) wrote in riverview2017-10-09 05:01 am
MEMORY VIDEO / ACTION / VOICE.
(Warning for torture and abuse of a child, pretty much, as well as self-harm and vague mentions of violent footage. If you'd rather just visit Laura without viewing it, feel free to! Open action and voice options are under the memory option. Also, feel free to see the footage any time throughout the event, if you prefer to have your character see it later. It'll play at random, probs.)
[VIDEO MEMORY | optional]
[What plays is particularly grainy at first -- some kind of movie file that is comprised almost entirely of short, sporatic scenes -- bloody bedding in a surgery room, a number of vials and medical machinery, and Laura, laying unconscious as scientists -- doctors -- cut her open and forcefully extract the sharp bones in her arms. It's fuzzy, as is the next clip of her sitting up in her surgery bed, screaming at her bandaged hands and legs, carted back toward her room as the drugs slowly wear down. Clips of daily life for her and the children, of them walking in carefully maintained single file lines. And then -- Laura, sitting huddled and passive. The camera holder walks in, voice soft and miserable. "Oh, niña--" Laura slices her wrists, watching the blood dribble before the wound closes. She looks up with clear emotion now: misery.
The camera steadies. An older man stands beside the table where Laura has been carefully cuffed -- hands and feet, because without those fasteners, she would be able to kill them all in a fit. She is just rousing from the strong sedation they found effective, and looks at Dr. Rice with a sharp, dark stare. One of the men in lab coats continue:
"Log #306, Subject X-23-23, current age nine. Increased levels of radiation was a success -- all of Weapon X's documented abilities have been developing at a much more excellerated rate, though there appear to be some distinctive differences." Dr. Rice steps around to the side of the table, akin to an operating slab, and Laura watches like a hawk. She doesn't try to fight it; she doesn't know any better yet. "Patient is reacting well to serum injections -- no signs of illness or allergies."
He gives the nod to the other doctors in the room, reaching for -- something, on the operating table.
"We will now proceed to improve the subject's pain tolerance."
The screen muddies with pixels and static, just before Laura begins screaming.
A woman's voice drifts between the cries of pain --
"There, there -- if you want it to end, you must adapt to it... 'Laura'."
Static. Sound plays, the doctor's voice drifting through the feed. "We do not dress them up for Halloween. We do not call them baby, or kiss boo-boos. Do not think them as children. Think them as things, with patents and copyrights. Comprende?"
As the audio plays out, the final clip in the muddled feed is someone filming a gaggle of children, all sitting in front of a screen. Empathy erasure, they call it. Desensitizing. It makes them more willing to hurt things, if that's all they know, isn't it? Follow orders and hurt people. They're watching footage of wartime, of death, compilations of combat and all manner of operation. Some of it is old black and white footage, perhaps of World War II. One of the children covers his face with his hands, rocking in his discontent, but Laura sits with intense focus as the light from the screen plays over her face. As if aware of being watched -- filmed -- she turns a dark-eyed, focused stare toward the camera before the feed ends.]
[Action.]
[Laura is of course unaware of this footage -- no, she doesn't watch or know about it, but instead of being on the network, she follows through with her usual day to day life. She packs some comic books she found in the school library along with her slightly rumpled homework. Linda helps brush her hair and hands off a pastry before she starts off with her tattered green backpack, a little horse key-chain hanging off it, the horse plush gifted to her recently poking out of an unzipped section like it's hiding out and catching a ride with her. She has her favorite galaxy-themed cap on, too, and smiley-face pancakes on her mind from a local diner. Smiley-face pancakes and a milkshake, of course. Maybe she'll go there again, now that Peter Quill the Star Lord has properly introduced her. She does actually go to school today, and can be found milling about there, finishing the day properly.
Then she walks the town, mainly to visit the toy store -- Ciel's toystore. She has money from her caseworker today.
Near the end of the day, Laura can also be found near the shops wandering (not stealing! aren't you proud?), or at the community housing, on the rooftop, her legs crossed as she lays on her belly and reads the daring comic adventures of THE FLICK AND WILD RANGER, two very generic but no less enthusiastic heroes. The Flick flicks things with his mind. And the ranger is wild and has a lasso. You understand. If there are wrappers all over the roof, well. Whatever. It's a fun hang-out spot for asocial children. Her eyes pour over every panel with eagerness, brightened in privacy by the victories on the paper.]
[Voice.]
What is your favorite hero?
... Someone said that Halloween is for 'costumes'. Do they mean hero costumes? Like a... hero costume day.
[She's a little inspired today. She just doesn't know how to go about what she considers "dress like a superhero day". Clearly that's what Halloween is, right?]
[VIDEO MEMORY | optional]
[What plays is particularly grainy at first -- some kind of movie file that is comprised almost entirely of short, sporatic scenes -- bloody bedding in a surgery room, a number of vials and medical machinery, and Laura, laying unconscious as scientists -- doctors -- cut her open and forcefully extract the sharp bones in her arms. It's fuzzy, as is the next clip of her sitting up in her surgery bed, screaming at her bandaged hands and legs, carted back toward her room as the drugs slowly wear down. Clips of daily life for her and the children, of them walking in carefully maintained single file lines. And then -- Laura, sitting huddled and passive. The camera holder walks in, voice soft and miserable. "Oh, niña--" Laura slices her wrists, watching the blood dribble before the wound closes. She looks up with clear emotion now: misery.
The camera steadies. An older man stands beside the table where Laura has been carefully cuffed -- hands and feet, because without those fasteners, she would be able to kill them all in a fit. She is just rousing from the strong sedation they found effective, and looks at Dr. Rice with a sharp, dark stare. One of the men in lab coats continue:
"Log #306, Subject X-23-23, current age nine. Increased levels of radiation was a success -- all of Weapon X's documented abilities have been developing at a much more excellerated rate, though there appear to be some distinctive differences." Dr. Rice steps around to the side of the table, akin to an operating slab, and Laura watches like a hawk. She doesn't try to fight it; she doesn't know any better yet. "Patient is reacting well to serum injections -- no signs of illness or allergies."
He gives the nod to the other doctors in the room, reaching for -- something, on the operating table.
"We will now proceed to improve the subject's pain tolerance."
The screen muddies with pixels and static, just before Laura begins screaming.
A woman's voice drifts between the cries of pain --
"There, there -- if you want it to end, you must adapt to it... 'Laura'."
Static. Sound plays, the doctor's voice drifting through the feed. "We do not dress them up for Halloween. We do not call them baby, or kiss boo-boos. Do not think them as children. Think them as things, with patents and copyrights. Comprende?"
As the audio plays out, the final clip in the muddled feed is someone filming a gaggle of children, all sitting in front of a screen. Empathy erasure, they call it. Desensitizing. It makes them more willing to hurt things, if that's all they know, isn't it? Follow orders and hurt people. They're watching footage of wartime, of death, compilations of combat and all manner of operation. Some of it is old black and white footage, perhaps of World War II. One of the children covers his face with his hands, rocking in his discontent, but Laura sits with intense focus as the light from the screen plays over her face. As if aware of being watched -- filmed -- she turns a dark-eyed, focused stare toward the camera before the feed ends.]
[Action.]
[Laura is of course unaware of this footage -- no, she doesn't watch or know about it, but instead of being on the network, she follows through with her usual day to day life. She packs some comic books she found in the school library along with her slightly rumpled homework. Linda helps brush her hair and hands off a pastry before she starts off with her tattered green backpack, a little horse key-chain hanging off it, the horse plush gifted to her recently poking out of an unzipped section like it's hiding out and catching a ride with her. She has her favorite galaxy-themed cap on, too, and smiley-face pancakes on her mind from a local diner. Smiley-face pancakes and a milkshake, of course. Maybe she'll go there again, now that Peter Quill the Star Lord has properly introduced her. She does actually go to school today, and can be found milling about there, finishing the day properly.
Then she walks the town, mainly to visit the toy store -- Ciel's toystore. She has money from her caseworker today.
Near the end of the day, Laura can also be found near the shops wandering (not stealing! aren't you proud?), or at the community housing, on the rooftop, her legs crossed as she lays on her belly and reads the daring comic adventures of THE FLICK AND WILD RANGER, two very generic but no less enthusiastic heroes. The Flick flicks things with his mind. And the ranger is wild and has a lasso. You understand. If there are wrappers all over the roof, well. Whatever. It's a fun hang-out spot for asocial children. Her eyes pour over every panel with eagerness, brightened in privacy by the victories on the paper.]
[Voice.]
What is your favorite hero?
... Someone said that Halloween is for 'costumes'. Do they mean hero costumes? Like a... hero costume day.
[She's a little inspired today. She just doesn't know how to go about what she considers "dress like a superhero day". Clearly that's what Halloween is, right?]
Video
Video
What will you be this year?
Video
I'm not sure, honestly. Maybe a mortician, like my friend Undertaker? Or perhaps a detective.
Video
[Now Ciel, you know she has a lot to learn about normal real life occupations.]
Video
A mortician prepares those who have died for their funerals. And then handles their burial and the headstone, things of that nature.
Video
And because it is Halloween, it's good to be things like that.
Video
Video
[But more importantly, because she can't stand not knowing something spoken at her--]
... Who is Bard?
Video
Video
I don't know who cooked our food.
It wasn't very good. Home food at tables are better.
...
And diner food.
Video
If he ever comes here, I do recommend sticking to diner foods rather than anything he does. He may be my chef but he has an awful habit of trying to cook everything faster using a flame thrower.
Video
Does it cook faster?
Video
... Technically yes. If you want a burnt mass of whatever you were attempting to make.
Video
Video
You'll ruin the food and potentially burn down your home.
Video
[She may or may not be just pulling his leg now.
Maybe not, though.
Or maybe yes.]
Video
Do you actually know how to cook?
Video
Video
Video
[CIEL YOU'VE DOOMED LINDA THE CASEWORKER TO AN AWFUL WEEKEND]
Video
It certainly causes no harm to ask.