Tara Maclay (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
moontothetide) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2012-06-04 10:13 pm
moontothetide) wrote in towerofanimus2012-06-04 10:13 pm
Entry tags:
2nd Spell
Characters: Tara Maclay and open!
When: July 1st, and then July 3rd
Setting: Listed below
Format: Action or commentspam, I'll copy you
Summary: Today is a day where many things happen. Most of them are awful
Warnings: Death and possibly violence
1. Floor Thirty-Eight
Tara is pacing. She's pacing and wandering around the room, so lost in her own pensive thoughts that this occasionally involves bumping her shin painfully against a table or stumbling against an armchair. But, whenever she does this, it only results in a brief pause in her movement, and she doesn't put the letter down at all, instead simply standing there and reading it again and again and again.
Because she is holding a letter in both hands, and both those hands are shaking, and Tara is reading and rereading it as though each time is the first, and each time makes as little sense as the time before it.
Needless to say, Tara isn't in the right frame of mind to notice people, unless she bumps into them. "Oh! Oh god, I'm, I-I'm so sorry. D-Did I hurt you?"
2. Floor Two
Tara doesn't normally take the elevator in any case, so she doesn't notice that it isn't working to take her down as far as the infirmary. No, the walk down there is peaceful enough, for the tower, which is to say that she only has to strike down a couple of annoying little daytime creatures with a quick spell or two, and manages without having to take very much care to avoid the environmental hazards.
Her first collar check had been an early collar check, on her arrival, a fact she'd been made brutally aware of by some retrieval units dragging her kicking and shouting out of the library. After that, well, Tara had been even less sure of the schedule than she had before and, not being terribly eager to be dragging kicking and screaming from her work, she was taking a walk down to the infirmary just to check whether or not there was a collar check today, and get the indigo liquid in her collar topped up if there was. Ever since learning from Xion that the collars were necessary in more ways than one, she was eager to it topped up.
But, upon arrival, Tara was unpleasantly surprised. The clinic was empty, utterly devoid of the blank eyed, bland workers she'd met there on her last visit. In fact, the place seems completely deserted. Tara fortunately hasn't had to visit this floor more than once, so she has no way of knowing if there are days where it's supposed to be empty. But it still doesn't feel right to her, and so Tara lingers, knife in hand, pacing among the beds and checking the cabinets and rifling through whatever's been left out for her to rifle through.
4. Floor Twenty-Four
Ninety nine percent of the time, this floor is empty.
One percent of the time, it's not.
Tara stumbles as she appears at the far end of the room. The thing makes no sound as it marshals itself, but some hidden, long developed sense of danger makes Tara look up.
Her eyes grow wide with terror. Her mouth opens, but she can't even draw in the breath to scream. Instead, she starts to run, mad, desperate strides bringing her on and on back towards the stairs. If she weren't quite so terrified she would fly instead, but it's been too long without a power boost, and she can't take to the air without pausing for a few scant seconds that she doesn't have.
They're the stairs down, but she doesn't care, she just has to get away.
...and she doesn't.
Tara shrieks in agony as the shadow falls upon her. She prays for help to come or, failing that, for unconsciousness to take her.
No one comes, and it doesn't.
5. Room 2-07, then Dormitory Floor 2
It's two days later that Tara awakes, in agony, in her bed in the room she shares with four other girls. And, for ten minutes, she can't even move to take any action to ease the pain. But any of her roommates that happened to be present will be made aware to Tara's presence, if not by her soft whimpers of pain, then by her voice, faint and exhausted and bewildered.
"It's...i-it's not supposed to...to feel this way. They said..."
But then her words are cut off by a fit of ragged coughs that make her body twitch despite its paralysis, and leaves blood dotting her chin.
It's clear even to Tara that she needs medical attention, with every inch of her skin feeling like it's aflame and her insides feeling as though they were messily chopped to mincemeat before being clumsily reassembled. Who's to say this wasn't the case? But the painless resurrection she's heard so much about has been anything but, so far. So fellow wanderers on the second dormitory level will likely see Tara, limping along, one hand braced against the wall, staring straight ahead with the ragged determination of the exhausted but desperate.
And it's then that she finds that the elevators aren't working. Tara can't help herself, she collapses back against the elevator doors to sob. But she does so standing up. She knows that, as horrible as she's feeling, if she sits down getting back up to haul herself all the way back down to the infirmary will be even more of a hellish effort.
Tara can be found on any floor, after that, making her slow but grimly determined way down the stairs. It's clear that she's in pain, one hand pressed tight over her stomach despite how much pain even wearing her clothes is causing against her brutalized skin. There's blood around her mouth from the cough fits that occasionally seize her body, leaving her doubled over in pain.
But she keeps going. For an emergency like this...and she's sure she counts, even in this place...there has to be a way to get a doctor. There must still be doctors somewhere in the tower. Aren't there?
Back on the second floor for the second time in three days, she finds that there isn't. And then, defeated and in pain, Tara collapses onto a bed and just lays there.
When: July 1st, and then July 3rd
Setting: Listed below
Format: Action or commentspam, I'll copy you
Summary: Today is a day where many things happen. Most of them are awful
Warnings: Death and possibly violence
1. Floor Thirty-Eight
Tara is pacing. She's pacing and wandering around the room, so lost in her own pensive thoughts that this occasionally involves bumping her shin painfully against a table or stumbling against an armchair. But, whenever she does this, it only results in a brief pause in her movement, and she doesn't put the letter down at all, instead simply standing there and reading it again and again and again.
Because she is holding a letter in both hands, and both those hands are shaking, and Tara is reading and rereading it as though each time is the first, and each time makes as little sense as the time before it.
Needless to say, Tara isn't in the right frame of mind to notice people, unless she bumps into them. "Oh! Oh god, I'm, I-I'm so sorry. D-Did I hurt you?"
2. Floor Two
Tara doesn't normally take the elevator in any case, so she doesn't notice that it isn't working to take her down as far as the infirmary. No, the walk down there is peaceful enough, for the tower, which is to say that she only has to strike down a couple of annoying little daytime creatures with a quick spell or two, and manages without having to take very much care to avoid the environmental hazards.
Her first collar check had been an early collar check, on her arrival, a fact she'd been made brutally aware of by some retrieval units dragging her kicking and shouting out of the library. After that, well, Tara had been even less sure of the schedule than she had before and, not being terribly eager to be dragging kicking and screaming from her work, she was taking a walk down to the infirmary just to check whether or not there was a collar check today, and get the indigo liquid in her collar topped up if there was. Ever since learning from Xion that the collars were necessary in more ways than one, she was eager to it topped up.
But, upon arrival, Tara was unpleasantly surprised. The clinic was empty, utterly devoid of the blank eyed, bland workers she'd met there on her last visit. In fact, the place seems completely deserted. Tara fortunately hasn't had to visit this floor more than once, so she has no way of knowing if there are days where it's supposed to be empty. But it still doesn't feel right to her, and so Tara lingers, knife in hand, pacing among the beds and checking the cabinets and rifling through whatever's been left out for her to rifle through.
4. Floor Twenty-Four
Ninety nine percent of the time, this floor is empty.
One percent of the time, it's not.
Tara stumbles as she appears at the far end of the room. The thing makes no sound as it marshals itself, but some hidden, long developed sense of danger makes Tara look up.
Her eyes grow wide with terror. Her mouth opens, but she can't even draw in the breath to scream. Instead, she starts to run, mad, desperate strides bringing her on and on back towards the stairs. If she weren't quite so terrified she would fly instead, but it's been too long without a power boost, and she can't take to the air without pausing for a few scant seconds that she doesn't have.
They're the stairs down, but she doesn't care, she just has to get away.
...and she doesn't.
Tara shrieks in agony as the shadow falls upon her. She prays for help to come or, failing that, for unconsciousness to take her.
No one comes, and it doesn't.
5. Room 2-07, then Dormitory Floor 2
It's two days later that Tara awakes, in agony, in her bed in the room she shares with four other girls. And, for ten minutes, she can't even move to take any action to ease the pain. But any of her roommates that happened to be present will be made aware to Tara's presence, if not by her soft whimpers of pain, then by her voice, faint and exhausted and bewildered.
"It's...i-it's not supposed to...to feel this way. They said..."
But then her words are cut off by a fit of ragged coughs that make her body twitch despite its paralysis, and leaves blood dotting her chin.
It's clear even to Tara that she needs medical attention, with every inch of her skin feeling like it's aflame and her insides feeling as though they were messily chopped to mincemeat before being clumsily reassembled. Who's to say this wasn't the case? But the painless resurrection she's heard so much about has been anything but, so far. So fellow wanderers on the second dormitory level will likely see Tara, limping along, one hand braced against the wall, staring straight ahead with the ragged determination of the exhausted but desperate.
And it's then that she finds that the elevators aren't working. Tara can't help herself, she collapses back against the elevator doors to sob. But she does so standing up. She knows that, as horrible as she's feeling, if she sits down getting back up to haul herself all the way back down to the infirmary will be even more of a hellish effort.
Tara can be found on any floor, after that, making her slow but grimly determined way down the stairs. It's clear that she's in pain, one hand pressed tight over her stomach despite how much pain even wearing her clothes is causing against her brutalized skin. There's blood around her mouth from the cough fits that occasionally seize her body, leaving her doubled over in pain.
But she keeps going. For an emergency like this...and she's sure she counts, even in this place...there has to be a way to get a doctor. There must still be doctors somewhere in the tower. Aren't there?
Back on the second floor for the second time in three days, she finds that there isn't. And then, defeated and in pain, Tara collapses onto a bed and just lays there.
no subject
[An answer Tara arrives at after some thought.]
I-I mean, I was...skinned, a-and s-something took all my guts out, and, um, and then I woke up, a-and you kidnapped me, and experimented on me, a-and I feel better, so thank you. I mean, i-it all hurts less. Kind of wish you hadn't, um, drugged and kidnapped me, but I, I do feel better.
[In the grand scheme of things, he'd been terribly polite and restrained about having her as a helpless test subject, so Tara somehow has the feeling that complaining too much would be impolite.]
...c-can I get up now? Or would that, um, be bad? W-What floor are we on? I, I-I don't remember a place like this...
So sorry, I've been ill!
He undoes the straps, encouraging the subject to sit up on the edge of the gurney. The room is dark, still. A fresh set of scrubs lies folded nearby.]
Oh, well I wouldn't have wanted to attempt to bring you here to the Laboratory without sedating you. You were delirious. I felt there was danger of your attracting additional-- attention.
Your surgery was challenging, but I'd hardly say it was experimental. I've performed similar procedures many times. In that vein, I will say that you are weak, and will need time to recover, but I will see you back to your room when you feel ready-- there are clean clothes, when you wish to dress.
I'm well armed and quite sure we'll arrive without incident.
Please try to limit sudden movements. You are stable, but have a care for your sutures.
Well, I hope you're feeling better now!
But, then she sees the cleaned scrubs laid out for her, and decides to try tackling this issue first. If she's still not well enough to dress herself, she's certainly not well enough to get back up to her room, let alone try and get any more information out of Fuhito.
Slowly, carefully, trying to obediently avoid any sudden movements, Tara gets to her feet and shuffles towards the clothes. Wincing occasionally as her healing muscles protest and the fact that her skin still doesn't feel entirely right, Tara goes to work getting dressed.]
Does...um, does this happen a lot? I mean, um, if you've done it before.
Finally, yes! Thanks for your patience, patient.
He will answer her questions. She has been helpful, in her way.]
When I lived, I was a scientist-- an experimental biologist, in part. The kind of beneficial exploratory I performed on you is common, in that line of inquiry.
You seem to process pain well. The physical trauma-- do things like this happen a lot?
o7 No prob, doc!
Tara doesn't have much in the way of scars or injuries that can't be attributed to the thing on the twenty first floor. But, depending on how thorough he was in his exploratory, he might have noticed that her left hand had sustained some fairly gruesome damage at some point in the past - the equivalent of, somehow, being put into a hydraulic vice. There had been no healing that, not completely, not with the technology available in her world. It's functional, now, but there's still some evident damage there, she's obviously learned to favor her right hand for reasons beyond handedness.]
...n-not a lot.
But, um, I...I guess the memory just, just sticks with me. After the first time...um, got to adapt, right?
no subject
He watches the woman's back.]
Yes, adaptation is essential. So is pain, in its way. It is a powerful teacher, isn't it.
What is your name?
[He can't recall the last time he asked the name of another human being. He only does so now out of an unusual kind of mild curiosity. He feels a certain-- interest in his one and only living-- unaltered subject.]
no subject
[With a slightly decisive tug, she finishes getting the scrubs on, pulling the front of it down over the healing suture marks, and the y-shaped scar that's going to stay with her through her next death. Then, still moving gingerly, she turns back to face Fuhito.] M-My name is Tara.
...can we go now? Please?
no subject
[Fuhito rises (of average height and a with slight build, he isn't physically imposing by any stretch of the imagination) and removes his lab coat. He lifts his weapon from the table and quickly checks its Materia by touch. Everything in its place. The small portable light he hands to his subject. It should serve to decrease her fear-- and also make her the most likely to be picked off by the things that lurk in the dark, should the occasion arise. Not that he would disclose that strategic option. There is no need. He has every intention of seeing his subject back to her quarters safely.]
When you are ready, take a left at the doors. It should take us no more than a minute or so to reach the elevators.
no subject
Even so, perhaps not wanting to push her like, and because at least like this she'll be able to see whatever is planning on trying to eat her before it strikes, she sets off, taking a left at the doors and, indeed, finding that her beam falls on the elevator doors after just a moment.]
...th-the, um, the power's still out.