Bennett Halverson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
glassesonachain) wrote2017-07-30 11:03 pm
glassesonachain) wrote2017-07-30 11:03 pm
Entry tags:
All the king's horses and all the king's men, Couldn't put me back together again
When Bennett still had her own voice, it had whispered something to her that night. The night that everything fell apart. It was so small, so quiet, telling her to perhaps think things through more thoroughly before charging head first into Caroline's crusade. But how could she have resisted her? Caroline, the only person that had ever shown any sort of care for Bennett the person and not just Bennett the scientist.
She knew how far Rossum reached. She knew how dangerous they could be. And yet, in the moment, it didn't matter what Rossum could do or might do, should the entire plan Bennett and Caroline had concocted gone to Hell.
It shouldn't have surprised Bennett when they forced her into what amounted to slavery.
If she had still had her own mind, she would have been impressed, blown away by the capabilities of this technology. Instead, as she sat across the table from that insufferable woman, DeWitt, Bennett had been in too much pain to think straight. Either be shuffled off this mortal coil with little ceremony or sign her life away, allow Rossum to use her mangled arm in some experimental nerve regrowth trial with the promise that she'd always have a job within the company after serving some sort of sentence.
Perhaps that punishment was worse than death. Not that Bennett knew that, her real mind now sitting on a hard drive. Bits and pieces of it now floating around in the databases the Dollhouse programmers drew on to create personalities.
As for her physical body, (that was now fully healed thanks to that experimental procedure on her arm,) the so-called empty shell, was now an Active in Los Angeles known to the staff as Delta. Not nearly as popular as many of the other Dolls, Delta was often left idle in the house, in the state of tabula rasa. Of course, some behavior patterns couldn't be scrubbed clean from a brain as vastly complicated as this one. Often times, Delta liked to keep to herself, even when other Actives would seek her out or be friendly, Delta would avoid them.
She was also the absolute worst offender of the rule "Do not go upstairs without your handler." If Delta could not be found, it was more than likely she had wandered up to the imprint lab. She would not be much of a bother, would still, as always, keep to herself and simply watch as Topher and Ivy worked.
Today, she sat on the couch, hands folded in her lap. Her big brown eyes fixated on the computer screen sitting on the desk. Insatiably curious, she was. But Delta knew better than to meddle. She was content to take refuge from the other Dolls up here. It was very rare for her to speak but for whatever reason, today she was feeling brave.
"You never sit down," she looks up at Topher the next time he passes through the lab, "Do you not get tired? I try to be my best but then I get tired."
She knew how far Rossum reached. She knew how dangerous they could be. And yet, in the moment, it didn't matter what Rossum could do or might do, should the entire plan Bennett and Caroline had concocted gone to Hell.
It shouldn't have surprised Bennett when they forced her into what amounted to slavery.
If she had still had her own mind, she would have been impressed, blown away by the capabilities of this technology. Instead, as she sat across the table from that insufferable woman, DeWitt, Bennett had been in too much pain to think straight. Either be shuffled off this mortal coil with little ceremony or sign her life away, allow Rossum to use her mangled arm in some experimental nerve regrowth trial with the promise that she'd always have a job within the company after serving some sort of sentence.
Perhaps that punishment was worse than death. Not that Bennett knew that, her real mind now sitting on a hard drive. Bits and pieces of it now floating around in the databases the Dollhouse programmers drew on to create personalities.
As for her physical body, (that was now fully healed thanks to that experimental procedure on her arm,) the so-called empty shell, was now an Active in Los Angeles known to the staff as Delta. Not nearly as popular as many of the other Dolls, Delta was often left idle in the house, in the state of tabula rasa. Of course, some behavior patterns couldn't be scrubbed clean from a brain as vastly complicated as this one. Often times, Delta liked to keep to herself, even when other Actives would seek her out or be friendly, Delta would avoid them.
She was also the absolute worst offender of the rule "Do not go upstairs without your handler." If Delta could not be found, it was more than likely she had wandered up to the imprint lab. She would not be much of a bother, would still, as always, keep to herself and simply watch as Topher and Ivy worked.
Today, she sat on the couch, hands folded in her lap. Her big brown eyes fixated on the computer screen sitting on the desk. Insatiably curious, she was. But Delta knew better than to meddle. She was content to take refuge from the other Dolls up here. It was very rare for her to speak but for whatever reason, today she was feeling brave.
"You never sit down," she looks up at Topher the next time he passes through the lab, "Do you not get tired? I try to be my best but then I get tired."
no subject
Today was normal, as far as days in the Dollhouse went. He was puttering around with the chair and his computers, and when he wasn't doing that, he was working on some brain scans. He also was keenly aware of Delta sitting on a couch watching him as he went here and there, working away at one task or another.
It wasn't really that obvious, but when Delta spoke up, Topher jumped a bit. He was engrossed in his work, and he'd all but forgotten she was there. She was a quiet one, when she wasn't imprinted with someone else's personality. Or personalities, as the correct term was; an imprint was made up of multiple people, after all. Doing his best to calm himself back down after his not-quite-jump, he turned to glance briefly at her. "I don't have time to sit down. DeWitt wants all this done by-" He cut himself off, deciding he shouldn't complain about DeWitt to a doll. Not that she'd go running to DeWitt, but still, cameras were everywhere, and anyone could be watching, including the head of the Dollhouse herself.
"If I get tired, then this doesn't get done, and if it doesn't get done, well..." He mimed a knife slicing itself across his throat. Perhaps it was too dramatic, and- Why was he talking to Delta anyway? He shook his head at himself before turning his attention back to his computer.
no subject
There might be some sort of remnant of herself that just can't look away because he's someone like her.
Delta's head cocks to the side as he makes his little slicing gesture. She doesn't understand. She blinks up at him, big eyes confused. She mimics his miming awkwardly.
"What does this mean? Is it a dance? I don't think I like dancing," she asks but then grows quiet again. She's deep in thought, putting pieces together. Dots that an Active shouldn't be connecting at all. Her gaze turns towards the closed doors leading to the imprint chair.
"I could help you get it done. When people go in there," she points at the doors, "They come out different. You could make me help you."