Participants:
| Scene Title | And Go Where? |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Jet undergoes her first brain scan under the watch of Dema and Bella, the latter of whom watches through a camera. Dema makes a reckless promise to Jet, and Jet reveals some information about herself. |
| Date | November 22, 2009 |
Refrain Testing Facility
A converted warehouse, secretly located, where Bella performs her experiments.
Jet has been moved to a facility the location of which it is barely possible to guess at. The walls seem thin, fabricated, not matching the floors, which is cement. It's not a slapdash operation, though. Whoever is behind this is well funded, if maybe a bit pressed for time. Jet is kept in a room (essentially a cell), with a porta-san, a pump operated sink, and meals delivered routinely. They need her in good health, at least. And they've been giving her shots to suppress her power.
As such, these past days have been less than totally pleasant. Jet has been put through a variety of tests and exams, her blood taken, her heart rate measured under physical stress, her body poked and probed in a manner that would be shocking or violating were it not all so clinical. Dema has been there most of the time, though he shares his responsibilities with a middle aged woman who takes over for the tests involving nakedness and or invasive examination. That seems to have come to an end now. A new test is bring prepared. Dema arrives at her cell door, and opens it. "Come," he says, in a way that doesn't sound like an order, but isn't to be denied, "The MRI has arrived. Now is a more pleasant time, in ways." There's no restraint visible. Apparently Dema thinks he can handle her, which isn't crazy, considering just how big he is.
Jet goes through the tests with little complaining, indeed the most they get out of her is an 'ow!' if they happen to hurt her at times. She's a good sport, eating all her food except for anything that's too greasy. And then when Dema comes for her, she stands from the bed she has, rolling her head and stretching out her muscles before she gives Dema a faint smile, if not perhaps a little sheepish. "Hello Darling." Arms above her head as she stretches out her arms before managing a faint skip over to him. She holds a hand out to him, testing him perhaps as she gives a perk of her brow to him and what reaction he'll have. "Could you perhaps ask them to double my vegetables and not give me fried foods? Grease makes me woozy."
Dema considers the offered hand for a good two seconds, but then takes it, his touch extremely gentle, something that's still a little surprising, but something she's seen a lot of. He has a medic's hands, controlled, firm, but capable of fine detail when moving slowly. He's no surgeon, may never be, but he's good at what he does. He nods. "I will pass this request along. I think it will be fine." He leads her out of her cell, into the 'hallway'. It's really just a passage formed by the spacing of rows of what must be other testing rooms, or even cells, though Jet hasn't seen anyone else here besides Dema and the middle aged woman. The direction he takes her in is new, though. "Today," he says, with the tone of one trying to put something delicately, "We do what you were brought here to do. We use Refrain." Well, actually, she was brought under suspicion of spying, but there've been no further questions about that. Camera forgotten, it's her warm, living body and brain these people are now interested in.
"What? NO!" Her complacent manner gone now she makes to jerk her hand out of Dema's own as the young body begins to flip out. She'll do anything she can to break free from Dema, and perhaps now letting him hold her hand wasn't the best of ideas. "I want to talk to your supervisor now! NOW!" She's damn near screaming at Dema, nothing more from the young woman save for her trying to break free from him and his touch.
Dema handles her with practiced ease. He must have been a bouncer or a wrestler or something before he ended up working for these people. That or he was just trained as an orderly. He slides his grip up her arm and pulls it behind her, his other hand looping around to lock her other arm in place against her body. He's really, really strong, but his restraining hold won't hurt her, unless she struggles too hard. "The Madame will not see you," he says, calmly, trying to make her calm as well, "Please. I am not wanting you to be hurt."
"But you -are- hurting me!" Comes her soft whine, letting Dema hold her though she doesn't struggle much. "Dema please. You don't understand. You're going to kill my humanity. Please. Please?" And then silence from her for a few moments, the female just breathing softly in his hold before she actually smirks a little bit, looking over her shoulder to try and get a look at him. "Hey Dema," she whispers out now, "You're holding me. Does it feel nice? I've never been held before by a man I cared for. The one I cared for was afraid to let me touch him. Needless to say, it did not last."
Bribes he's familiar with. And threats. He's been on both ends. But this… Dema's face remains impassive, even stony, which is actually a change since he does show affect and expression, albeit tempered by a certain distance. So his very lack of emotion is a betrayal of this tactic's effectiveness.
Limited effectiveness, though. Dema starts to frog-march Jet towards the room he was taking to her to start with. It was a mistake to warn her ahead of time, and that's what he gets for being soft. Stupid of him. "This is not something we have choice about. Only choice is whether you will be hurt on the way to doing what will be done. No choice about what will be done. I am sorry."
"Ow! Geeze. Will you let me go. I'll walk right with you. Not like you can't stop me if I don't." And with that she digs her feet into the ground to make the progress harder for him. He'll either have to carry her or let her walk properly. "I don't understand, what do they… what are they testing exactly? Alright, I get it. It's not about giving me drugs. It's more. Come on Dema, I'll walk properly. For you."
He was going to err on the side of carry, up until the end there. But Dema has a sentimental side, a hold out against a world that seems not to share that quality. He lets her go, placing himself behind her so that any movement she'll make will, in fact, be in the right direction; but he lets her go. "We walk, I tell you," he says.
A rolling of her shoulders, stretching out her arms and the hold he had on one before she looks over her shoulder to him. She reaches behind her to take ahold of his hand once more before she continues to walk along the hall, looking around silently to where they are going, then, "When my parents found out I was, what I was, they disowned me. I did not get the liberty of coming out in a world with tolerence. I was born into a world that was frightened of the unknown, to where parents would cast out their children if they were different."
Dema gives a nod. "I do not know that the world has changed since this time," he says. He knows she's a body jumper, so he has no idea how old she really, truly is. But what she describes sound contemporary enough. His hand gives hers a small squeeze. "It is so things are not unknown that we are doing this," he explains, "This is research. Hidden, yes. Outlawed, yes. But research." The reach the door, unmarked, but he seems to know that this is it. He pushes it open. Inside is a large partitioned area, with the great mass of an MRI machine sitting in the middle. There is a black video camera sticking out of the wall, and it pans to them as they step inside. They're being watched.
And upon seeing the camera Jet sticks her tongue out to it before flashing a grin. The camera forgotten she looks over her shoulder to Dema, returning the squeeze of his hand as she begins to idly rub her thumb against the back of his hand, just touching him. "No, it's changed. I do not even know if my parents are living or dead from old age. A man from the Company was supposed to help me find them, but he pushed my case to the back burner. A case is a case. And it was important to me."
Dema leads Jet to the table where she is clearly meant to lie down. There are restraints in place; apparently some resistance is expected. There's even a head brace. Dema pats the table. "Please, get in. First, we scan without." He lets go of her hand. The touch is distracting, and he's on the job. Sadly, there's no 'after work' to inquire about. "Why do you want to find them? Revenge?" This is his first guess, for whatever reason. Based on his opinion of her? Based on his own inclinations?
The camera moves to follow them.
A glance to the table before Jet walks away from Dema, slidding up onto the table is silence as she sits there for a moment. The back of her hand is used to brush her blonde hair out of her face before looking to him and giving a faint smirk. "No," come her whispers, "I just wanted to see what became of them, something they probably never bothered to do with me." And then she's laying back on the table, arms out to her side in preperation to let him ready her. "If I live through this, I expect a bottle of wine and garlic flavored cheese with french breads."
Dema fastens the head brace, though not restrictively. Just enough to make it hard to move. "Please stay still," he says, "This will be over faster if we do not have to scan a second time." He presses a button on the MRI machine, and its great while maw draws Jet in. The machine hums around her. "If you feel panic, fear, tell me. But do not lie. This will happen, one way or another." He's firm with her, moreso than usual. Maybe they're on mic as well, and he has to act tough. As such, he doesn't mention the wine or the repast. "My father was a drunk. I do not know what happened to him. I wonder about him, but I do not care enough. He is dead, I think. But I do not know how I am to feel about this."
The possessor lays still, just letting the machine whir around her as the MRI is taken of her form. Perhaps she's saving up her rebellion when she can get away with, which isn't now. Silence from her for a long time, then, "Well, he as your father Dema. Even if he was a drunk and an asshole, he was your father. So there will always be a small part of you that mourns." A beat, "Panic or fear from what?"
"Eeh…" Dema tries to think of the word in English, the word for the fear he's describing, "Claustrophobia," he finally says, enunciating clearly. "I did not think it would be a problem, but…" he shrugs, something she can't see, but she can just tell. He always shrugs after a trailoff like that. "Maybe you are right." The machine starts to make sharp clicking noises. "This is normal," Dema says, about the noises apparently, "We are taking pictures of your brain. To see what it is like when it is normal. This is the control."
"Oh, I won't get claustrophobic." A faint smile sideways to him at this as she just goes quiet now, letting the machine work over her as the scan is taken. "I've been in a hospital many times in my life." She lays still as he advised her too, though a soft hum does come from Jet, a soft little diddy which could be borderline happy.
"Why is this?" Dema asks, sitting back and letting the machine do its work, "It cannot be a health trouble. You can take another body, yes? Or do you feel attachment to the one you take, leave it only out of necessity?"
Silence from her for a few moments, then, "I have at times stayed in a body for a couple of years. I only switch when I need to. I've never really taken anyone rich though, or famous. I should someday though. One day I would like to be married. I don't know how I am going to do that yet. But I'll figure it out." A smirk from her before her eyes slip shut. "Have you ever been married Dema?"
"No," Dema answers, "All the women I knew for a long time were whores, daughters of criminals. I was a criminal as well, but, if I were to marry, it would not be to… heh… 'settle down for a life of crime'." The machine stops clicking, but it's still humming. "First part done. One more. Then… well, we shall see what Madame wants."
A very faint nod of her head to this, but otherwise she remains still bodily. "That is why I took this body," Jet speaks "It would not be missed, not really. She was in a coma. I don't think you understand it is, how hard it is to find someone you feel semi comfortable with taking the body over of. To not… anyway."
Dema gives a small chuckle, "Also to find a body beautiful enough. Have you ever worn the skin of someone ugly? Out of choice, that is, not necessity."
"What is ugly." Are her soft words, her fingers curling into fists before they relax. "That which is not socially acceptable? A larger person? A short larger person with a bad complexion? Yes, I have taken 'ugly' people before. Black girls, white girls, Asian men, Russian men, Dutch, little girls of the age of eight, twenty-something men. I've had it all."
"You can ask this question, 'what is ugly'," Dema says, "For most, it is very clear. Some people are beautiful, some not. How old are you, then, to have worn so many skins?" The machine begins to click once more, "Speak freely. We cannot be heard unless I let us be heard."
A smirk to his question, and then a throaty chuckle, "A woman never tells her age my love," come her murmured words. "Until we are naked together, that is not something I am going to say. I am, however, older than you, I am sure. I died when I was seventeen, so I have a tendency to go with bodies around my age."
Dema leans down, getting a glimpse of Jet through the aperture in the machine. "You don't care about voting, then?" he says. This is a joke, though it's hard to tell with him sometimes.
And up she looks at him though the machine, a flash of a smile to him. "No. I don't care about voting. But could you imagine? I could vote -for- people if I really wanted to. Though it would be a little fishy considering. May cause complications." Teeth bite at her bottom lip at this, smiling through it before it's released. "Do you have any children, Dema?"
"You would be a woman in demand, if you decided to do that," Dema says, "But would it not be exhausting, jumping from body to body? And wouldn't people notice?" An oblique inquiry about her power, this. Whether he is just curious, or really gathering info is hard to say. And both are possible. He shakes his head, "No children. None I know of."
"Like I just said, it could bring complications." A faint smirk to him at this, a small fidgit perhaps from staying laying there for longer than she wants. "Are we almost done here? I would like to hurry this along so I can feel you up afterwards."
"Perfect timing," Dema says. And it's true. The slab withdraws, freeing Jet from the grasp of the machine. Dema leans over and undoes the head brace. "A break. I think you will be safe from the needle today. But I cannot promise that next time. But I can tell you this: when you go under, I will be under with you. I have a gift as well, you see."
A laugh from her at this. "A gift." A brief sneer from her at this then a clearing of her throat. "And what is your gift baby? I am curious now." When her head is released she turns it back and forth, stretching out her muscles. "Hey, you said I would get Refrain today. You just want to get groped -now- don't you? I tell you what. Men are so impatient these days. Why, when I was a teenager, I never even kissed a man who was courting me. It was all very proper. Wait until marriage. Tell me this Dema, what happens to me if the marriage never comes?"
"For a man? Whores. For a woman?" Dema shrugs, "Other women, perhaps?" He doesn't address the groping issue. They are being watched, after all. "If the Refrain were here in this room, then I would have used it on you. But it was not. That is not a mistake, so you are not meant for it now. But… I can ask for some, if you are insistant?" He arches a brow.
A grunt to his words about her being insistant about it. "No… just… just next time you tell me something's going to happen, then I want it to happen. It's like Christmas, but my present is an empty box." Or something. And the cameras? Jet doesn't care. Hard to tell if she's even serious about the gropings.
"I thought it would be a relief," Dema says, skeptical, "You did not want it. I… did not mean to disappoint." He sounds a little confused. "My… my gift is to walk into dreams. Also visions. Also hallucinations. So, when you are having your kind memories in there," he points to the MRI machine, "I will be there with you, watching and guiding."
"What?" A bit of disbelieving tone from her at this, then she goes onto elaborate. "Are you telling me, that you're my own personal sex drug? Dude. I could have been having wonderful seuxal exploits with a large man with blue eyes, but no, you tell me you've yet to find a sleeping drug that causes that." A flash of a grin to Dema at this, "I feel utterly… utterly, not in the know."
Dema blinks. He is simply surprised. He lifts his hands. "I am not sure what you are meaning," he says, "Perhaps it is my English, which is not as good as yours. But these… these are not always sex dreams." Though they might be, something Dema hadn't really thought about. "Some are dreams of happy moments as a child. Or some time alone, at peace. In different bodies, perhaps, in different times. But happy memories." At least until Bella decides it's time to try and induce a bad trip.
Jet does seem to live to surprise, and shock, and just overall get her kicks in life. So when Dema reacts like that, she flashes him a grin, and then a soft smile. "So am I able to go back to my room now? Would you like to play a game of gin? I'm alright with cards." So, perhaps she's a little lonely here. "Play with me some, and I won't fight you next time you collect me."
Dema frowns. He looks to the camera. "I will find out," he says, "First, your room. I will come back, and if I have cards, we will play. If not, then we will not. I cannot promise, though. It is up to the Madame."
Jet gives a nod of her head to his words, then, "I don't think I can walk back to my room," comes her breathless voice now, "I feel very, very worn out. I don't think I could even -stand-. I think you'll have to hold me agian Dema. Just try not to break me eh? I am not for sure what happens when death becomes me."
Dema hesitates once more. He's not so much suspicious as generally wary. Jet seems wily, and Dema cannot read her. But he can't bring himself to be cruel and refuse. Not now. He slips his arms underneath Jet and lifts her. It takes almost no effort at all for him. He starts to carry her out of the room. The camera keeps pace, ever inquisitive.
And thus she's lifted in his arms, and her own arms wrap around his neck to take hold of him. There is a flexing of her arms as she pulls herself up a little bit, just so she can look behind Dema and once more stick her tongue out at the camera that's pacing their movements. "You're a good man Deman," Jet simply speaks now, "And I mean that."
Dema carries them out of the view of the camera, down the hall, back towards Jet's cell. His expression is stony again, another repressed reaction. It's clear, though, that he's hiding the fact that he's not sure he agrees.
And Jet doesn't press the issue. Though once out of the view of the cameras her temple rests against his shoulder as she just lets him carry her. A tired sigh from her, perhaps all of this tiring her out though only showing it off camera. "Don't forget," she eventually murmurs, perhaps just to break the silence. "Extra vegetables."
The door to her cell swings open, and he bears to her cot, where he sets her down. He nods, rising to his full height. "Nothing fried. For the good of your stomach." He smiles, just a little, "I will back, I hope, with cards."
The teenager replies with a faint smile of her own, though it doesn't really reach her eyes. There is a glance around her cell for a moment before looking back at Dema. "Yeah, sure. I would offer poker, but as you can see. I have nothing. I don't even know where my diamond ring went."
Dema leans down to touch her hand, very lightly, "I would lose, certainly. I cannot begin to guess what you think, Christine. Though… soon I shall see some of it for myself," he turns to go.
And the prospect of him seeing what she's thinking actually brings tears to her eyes, blinking them away quick like as she offers him another faint smile. "I would you rather not see what I'm thinking Dema. It is all loss, and rejection, and wanting. A lot… of wanting."
Dema pauses at the door, glancing back at her, at her tears. He can't hide the fact that this effects him. He can't even look emotionless and stoic. "Be wise," he says, giving that bit of advice again, "And you will walk out of this place free, in the body you came in with. I promise you that." On what grounds can be make this promise? Dema doesn't really know, but he promises none the less.
"Walk out of here, and go where, Dema?" A faint smile to him at this before she stretches out on the bed she has been given, tucking her hands up behind her head as she lays there. "I hope you find some cards, but if not I'll see you tomorrow. I believe I would like to be alone for some time now."
Dema does not have an answer to this question, and his foolish promise is close enough to deception for him to stomach any more. He nods, just once. "Yes. Until next time." Whenever that may be.