Corinna Galanos (OC) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tumultuous) wrote2012-02-03 07:52 pm
tumultuous) wrote2012-02-03 07:52 pm
Entry tags:
table d | oo1 | cloning
"Yeah," she said finally, her voice low but not thick. Her soft drawl echoed through the sickeningly clean, ammonia-soaked room, a world of chrome and tile and sterility and white and, occasionally, drops of red. "Yeah," she repeated softly, "she'll do."
Not that they were looking for her opinion or her approval--they had something better. Her cooperation, to which neither of those could compare. In fact, having her cooperation, she'd learned, essentially made everything else about her brain a moot point, aside from her adeptness towards strategy, tactility, quick-thinking and the other skills they'd instilled into her.
Still, saying that made her feel almost like she was still in control of the situation and of her life. Not that she was sure whether the feigned control was worth the responsibility for the backlash that came inevitably.
As the sound of fingers flying fast across high-tech keyboards reached her sharp, tapered ears, Corinna turned back to the object of her attention, crossed arms dropping back to her sides.
"Almost wish we could switch places, old gal," she murmured.
It was still and unresponsive--not yet awake in what Corinna referred to as a giant, goo-filled test tube incubator. Which, essentially, it was. She looked over the naked woman inside; well-built almost to the point of being overdeveloped, youthful, attractive. She had wild, curly blonde hair, bright blue eyes closed, tanned skin, and the trademark tapering ears.
Corinna's fingers tapped thoughtfully on the glass in morbid parody of defiance, despite having been reprimanded countless times on different occasions. Don't touch the glass, she remembered being told once, you'll scare the fish. Of course, then, she had responded curtly with a self-important snap that the fish would be more wise to be scared of the fishermen's hooks or a scooping net than some idle tapping. It didn't make much sense, but she couldn't have been older than ten at the time, and none too smart. Still none too smart, she reflected, though she supposed that she scored a couple points for at least recognizing it.
Now, the woman floating in goo was the fish Corinna longed to disturb, a sleeping catastrophe, an unwitting pawn. A brainless, lifeless substitute for a death equally as fake as the creature that would seek to illustrate it. And almost ready to be sent to the slaughter. She had been marinating for close to six months, and she already looked about as done as a scarlet tomato is ripe. A fisherwoman in a past life, Corinna wondered when her mermaid would be broiled to perfection.
Her mermaid...
Oh, well. Cloning was tricky business, after all, even with such a simplified concept. A body without a brain. A doll made, programmed, specially rigged to live and die. A lot like mortals in general, Corinna thought, just so much simpler. Wouldn't be so bad, would it?
She thought of her family and she knew it would.
She thought of what Marcellus told her, especially, at their last meeting:
"We love you, Cor, you know that. No matter what, we always will. Doesn't matter what you've done, you're stuck with us. But, cos... loving you means we'd rather never see you again if it meant you were safe and well than stand stricken, dressed in black, at your funeral, and hold you till the day you died."
"Why the fuck would I ever let you wear black to my funeral," she had said, and then burst into harsh, wracking sobs and collapsed into Marc's arms.
It was a memory still sharp and painful and Corinna stared at the base of the gigantic cylinder. One push, one frantic yank of wires, one poisonous vine, and Marcellus' wish would stay granted for another couple months. He wouldn't have to attend his cousin's funeral... or at least, what he thought was his cousin's funeral.
She withdrew her hand from the cool glass, fingers wriggling, itching, before she was tempted a little too much to resist. Even if she did all that, the only thing to come of it would be punishment, and the BIRCH would settle for a vaguer death. Her clone, after all, was an experiment. A really, really creepy experiment, but an experiment nonetheless.
She folded her arms back over her chest. Yeah, Corinna thought, I'm definitely jealous, aren't I?
Yes, the clone was creepy. So was the fact that it made her feel just a little less alone.
But the clone was Corinna Galanos--or at least, symbolic of her--and the real thing knew that soon enough, a symbol would be all that was left.
"Try not to break their hearts too much," she whispered, her voice finally growing thick.
Corinna left the laboratory.
Not that they were looking for her opinion or her approval--they had something better. Her cooperation, to which neither of those could compare. In fact, having her cooperation, she'd learned, essentially made everything else about her brain a moot point, aside from her adeptness towards strategy, tactility, quick-thinking and the other skills they'd instilled into her.
Still, saying that made her feel almost like she was still in control of the situation and of her life. Not that she was sure whether the feigned control was worth the responsibility for the backlash that came inevitably.
As the sound of fingers flying fast across high-tech keyboards reached her sharp, tapered ears, Corinna turned back to the object of her attention, crossed arms dropping back to her sides.
"Almost wish we could switch places, old gal," she murmured.
It was still and unresponsive--not yet awake in what Corinna referred to as a giant, goo-filled test tube incubator. Which, essentially, it was. She looked over the naked woman inside; well-built almost to the point of being overdeveloped, youthful, attractive. She had wild, curly blonde hair, bright blue eyes closed, tanned skin, and the trademark tapering ears.
Corinna's fingers tapped thoughtfully on the glass in morbid parody of defiance, despite having been reprimanded countless times on different occasions. Don't touch the glass, she remembered being told once, you'll scare the fish. Of course, then, she had responded curtly with a self-important snap that the fish would be more wise to be scared of the fishermen's hooks or a scooping net than some idle tapping. It didn't make much sense, but she couldn't have been older than ten at the time, and none too smart. Still none too smart, she reflected, though she supposed that she scored a couple points for at least recognizing it.
Now, the woman floating in goo was the fish Corinna longed to disturb, a sleeping catastrophe, an unwitting pawn. A brainless, lifeless substitute for a death equally as fake as the creature that would seek to illustrate it. And almost ready to be sent to the slaughter. She had been marinating for close to six months, and she already looked about as done as a scarlet tomato is ripe. A fisherwoman in a past life, Corinna wondered when her mermaid would be broiled to perfection.
Her mermaid...
Oh, well. Cloning was tricky business, after all, even with such a simplified concept. A body without a brain. A doll made, programmed, specially rigged to live and die. A lot like mortals in general, Corinna thought, just so much simpler. Wouldn't be so bad, would it?
She thought of her family and she knew it would.
She thought of what Marcellus told her, especially, at their last meeting:
"We love you, Cor, you know that. No matter what, we always will. Doesn't matter what you've done, you're stuck with us. But, cos... loving you means we'd rather never see you again if it meant you were safe and well than stand stricken, dressed in black, at your funeral, and hold you till the day you died."
"Why the fuck would I ever let you wear black to my funeral," she had said, and then burst into harsh, wracking sobs and collapsed into Marc's arms.
It was a memory still sharp and painful and Corinna stared at the base of the gigantic cylinder. One push, one frantic yank of wires, one poisonous vine, and Marcellus' wish would stay granted for another couple months. He wouldn't have to attend his cousin's funeral... or at least, what he thought was his cousin's funeral.
She withdrew her hand from the cool glass, fingers wriggling, itching, before she was tempted a little too much to resist. Even if she did all that, the only thing to come of it would be punishment, and the BIRCH would settle for a vaguer death. Her clone, after all, was an experiment. A really, really creepy experiment, but an experiment nonetheless.
She folded her arms back over her chest. Yeah, Corinna thought, I'm definitely jealous, aren't I?
Yes, the clone was creepy. So was the fact that it made her feel just a little less alone.
But the clone was Corinna Galanos--or at least, symbolic of her--and the real thing knew that soon enough, a symbol would be all that was left.
"Try not to break their hearts too much," she whispered, her voice finally growing thick.
Corinna left the laboratory.