Registry of the Evolved Database
File #23 May 2010 00:42
|
 Marié Digby |
*click* May 5th 2010: Isabella Dawson Interview.
—want to know about me? Well. There's not much to tell. Mommy was a drunk, Daddy wasn't there. Girl became a forensics specialist. You know the story. …No? Okay, whatever, fine, fine. Get your little notepad and start writing, brainiac. I'll start from the very beginning, just for you. So… my name is Isabella Rose Dawson. I'm 29 years old, and you could say I work for Homeland Security. Yes, yes, it's just a front, whatever. Don't write that down. Where was I? Right. Isa Dawson. I'm an Aries, and I like to Get. Shit. Done.
So, as far as I know it, Mommy was married to some guy from Germany, but he was a dick, so she cheated around on him. Lo and behold she finds some Japanese-American guy, has a brilliant love affair, and wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, she's pregnant. Course, she knew the baby was his, so she didn't want to have it. But Daddy— the German guy, Frank— wouldn't let her get rid of me. So Mommy went through her pregnancy with a healthy dose of resentment towards me. Gee, thanks, Daddy. Of course, it only got worse when out comes this lovely baby girl, who is definitely /not/ a fair-haired Aryan brat, but some half-Asian squaller. He pretty much left the delivery room and never came back. What? My real dad? Hell if I know. They stopped the affair when she was pregnant, and she never heard from him again. Knowing my mother, she hated him too.
So there I am, growing up in this wonderfully nurturing home, where Mommy drinks all day, lives on Welfare, and resents her daughterthat's me, if you're slowfor ruining her perfect, happy life. You know what I say to that? I say she ought to have got her shit in order. Not my fault she decided to sleep around. Anyways. Most of the time she let me do what I wanted, which was fine by me. I didn't want to be around her, are you kidding? So my earliest memory is of getting lost outside. This is all in Western Washington, by the way. The state? Yeah. Ballard. So it was cold, and raining. No fuckin' clue where I was. Some people might think it was odd, that my first memory is from when I was about six. I say everyone's different, and it's not…whatever the force's therapist said. Reactive something-or-other disorder.
So I'm wandering around. And this other, older kid comes up to me and he's all, where you going? And he seemed pretty friendly, and all, so I told him, nowhere. And that's how I met Dante. Dante's like my brother, you know? Nice guy. I mean, he's a bit severe sometimes I guess, but he's always been there for me. So anyways, he takes me home and his family all feeds me and I get to play games and shit. That was an awesome fuckin' day for six-year-old me. And then I had to go home, and my mother didn't even notice I'd been gone. So I started going over more.
Anyways, long story short, my childhood was like that. I spent most of my days over with Dante's family. They were sooo nice to me, you know, and even though I liked to beat up on Dante it was a good thing we had going. When I went to school, all the other kids were total brats. I mean total brats. I totally beat them up a lot—I guess you could say I was a bit of a bully, but I still say they deserved it. Dante usually got me out of trouble though. Nice guy. Anyway, where was I? Right! School. I got a few detentions, myself. Even got suspended once, but I spent it at Dante's house. Mommy never knew.
When I hit teenagehood, or whatever you call it, I realized it wasn't fair that my mom was a total deadbeat when Dante's was so nice and welcoming. Totally not fair: I mean, can you imagine? So I told my mother exactly that, and we had a /huge/ fight. I'm saying /huge/. It seriously came to blows, and I drew a knife on her. I didn't use it, but if she said one more word, I would ha—for the love of christ, don't write that down! Ugh, am I going to have to censor myself around you? Listen, just write what I tell you. Give me that. … Okay, scratch out that part. I'm not a sociopath, you ignoramus! It's not that I didn't /care/ about other people, they just usually weren't worth my time. I care about Dante, don't I? And his family? No, shut up. Okay I need a new interviewer. I swear to god if you publish this, this Company-issued gun is going to fire right through your skull. Are we savvy, soldier? Capische? Good. Now sit back. Sorry about your tie.
So I drew a knife on her … Gooood, you just keep that pen still for now … and she told me to get out. So I did. In fact, I happily obliged, and I showed up knife in hand at Dante's place. They took me in, and that was that: I was living with them. Of course, it kind of sucked, because they started wanting to know where I was and all that. And they actually got pissed when I was in trouble. But whatever. I got out of high school with average gradesC's average, right?and applied for college. Of course, apparently /average/ grades weren't enough for the U-Dub, but after I petitioned, they let me in. And after four years of beating my head against textbooks, I got a degree in Criminal Justice. Dante's mom said I could make a good cop, and CSI was always intriguing, so I looked into it. And so yeah: Criminal Justice, with a focus on the Natural Sciences. In other words, I got into Forensics. Which, by the way, is nothing like CSI, really. And anyways, Dante was on the force alreadyhe's five years older than meand he was already doing great.
Soooo, after a bit of string-pulling, Dante got me a place in Forensics on the Seattle PD! Which paid like shit, but it was kind of interesting. After a while of the random schedule and utter lack of job satisfactionbecause let's face it, running a black light over the eightieth hotel room that month in yet another search for some guy's semen is /far/ from satisfyingI decided to cozy up and bat my lashes for a shot at detective. I mean, I'd worked with the homicide detectives on site before: that's what you do in the CSI unit. How hard could it be to go from Forensics to Detective? But blah blah blah, they have this retarded "due process," right, and I had to take this test and do all this training and I had to work beat cop until they allowed me to take detective. It's like… why, you know? Ugh. Well. Anyways. The ungrateful sods couldn't see a good detective if it bit them, and they wouldn't let me even take the test, because that unholy "due process" said I had to be a cop for three years. Three years! Can you believe it? Ugh! So I started working as a cop. It was still better than CSI: Seattle. But Dante, he was a cop for a while, but as soon as he went for detective? Yeah, they upgraded him right quick. Blah blah, unique aptitude, blah. If I knew then what I knew now? Oh my god. I would have killed him. Don't write that down.
But I was working towards detective, and Dante made it right after I jumped into cophood. Right. Dante and I worked together a lot, and that's when I realized, duh, we should have sex. I mean, we're friends, and I don't make many of thosenot that you could guess thatand he's a good-looking guy, and I'm pretty hot if I do say so myself. I mean, honestly. And so we hooked up… had a few flings… and it didn't really work out. Kind of like fucking your brother, I guess. I mean, the sex was good. He's a real strong guy. But I don't think we have that… that chemistry. So whatever, that experiment ended, but we're still friends so.
Anyways. Let's see… Forensics, beat cop, sex. Right, we did that for a year. And then the NYPD called the SPD, and they were looking for some homicide detectives. You know, and they asked Dante, since he's a top-tier detective. Real intuitive, you know, or so they thought. Intuitive my ass. Uh. Getting there. So, he's real intuitive. And they ask him. But hell if he's going anywhere without me! So I volunteered to get transferred. And let me tell you, at first, they weren't having it. But I can be veeeery persuasive. After the third shouting match over the phone, they finally let me go to New York. So we packed our stuff — we've been living together, you know, as roommates — and moved to New York.
Now let me tell you: New York knows how to treat a girl. Back in Seattle, everyone's all wishy-washy, bend-over-backwards, whatever. But here? Oh it's nice here. Or, it was, anyways. Yeah you know exactly what I'm getting to. So, we're the perfect pair, right. Detective and cop running missions for a good couple of months before the bomb goes off. And ho-ly shit, I've never been happier to live in Queens. Our apartment building was mostly unharmed, if you ignore the lack of electricity or running water or any of that. Not to mention lack of cable? Yeah. But it didn't matter because even Dante got relegated to plain cop because holy shit, you would not believe the number of crimes. Or. Well, maybe you would. You look kind of skeezy yourself, you know. Hey, no backtalk. You want this interview or not? Then shut up and listen. We were working day and night back then. Like, literally, day and night. You couldn't put a foot down without stepping on another thieving roach. Ugh, people are scum.
People are also idiots: running into the radiated areas like that? Saving others or not, that was a dumb thing to do. Trust me, I wanted to find out the source of that bomb. I wanted to figure out who did it and make them pay with their sorry lives, for ruining mine. But I'm not about to go running in balls out into a nuclear warzone to find out. I may be a bit brash at times, but I'm not fuckin' stupid. You can write that down. So I stayed back, and did my own investigating in my copious free time. That's sarcasm: you can write that down too. As you can imagine, I didn't get far. Little busy arresting Dumbfuck McInstigator, stealing TVs from the local Radioshack. And what the fuck is he going to do with it, anyways? There's no fucking electricity, no money to buy it. But whatever, I arrest the idiots trying to make a buck off of worthless shit.
Oh man, though, you know that guy? That Sikh guy? The one they beat up. I was there, forced to run "relief" at the shelter. It was fuckin' awesome. The beating, that is; not running relief. I mean— justifiably, watching someone finally get to retaliate, you know, against the people we thought did it. It was a great rush. It felt justified. No—don't give me that bullshit about morals. Who the hell has morals these days? No one. And… it's not like I'd enjoy it today. Don't look at me like that.
But anyways, then comes Mister. Petrelli. Mister Nathan Petrelli, New York senator, showing off these powers. These batshit Evolved folk. You think watching Sahib, or whatever the guy's name was, get beat up was satisfying? It was nothing like this. Now we all had a reason. These peoplethese mutantsyeah I saw the movies, way back whenthey were running rampant. I don't know about you? But I don't trust them. All this power, right? And they can't be trusted with it. I mean they fucking blew up I don't care if it was just one man. No, it wasn't— Stop. No, shut up. They all paint themselves with the same brush. The same goddamn brush. They're "Evolved"? Fuck that: they nearly wiped out most of New York City! With their bare goddamn hands! They're a menace, a weapon. Some of them, anyways. But you can't fuckin' tell which is which. I mean, thank god for Registration. But I'm getting ahead of myself again.
After that, America rallied together. It was like nothing you'vewell, proverbial youever seen. We had an enemy. And it's not Palestine. And it's not Nathan Petrelli. Hell, it's not even Sylar. It was the whole goddamned Evolved race. I found so many of them, you know. I put a lot of them down, the dangerous ones. Yeah, that's right. You can publish that. I mean As soon as the tests were available I got tested. I knew I wasn't one of them to begin with, and I wanted to show my bosses I wasn't with that freak show. Of course it came up negative. I didn't expect anything different though, of course. Anyways, I was active on the force. PARIAH would say we did lynchings… but PARIAH's a bunch of terrorists anyways. No, seriously: Terrorists, with a capital 'T'. Phoenix is the same way: don't let them tell you different. They're all the same. Power drives a person mad. Powers like that? I can't even imagine. Anyways, they weren't lynchings. They were fucking justice.
Allegations? Oh, yeah, I'm getting there. Shut up and let me talk. There are some people who say I barged in on a family of "innocents" and killed them in cold blood. I say they don't know the goddamn facts. They were all Evolved. The father? A murderer. Or if he wasn't, he would be eventually. Mother, same way. The kids? Walking time bombs. I did the public a fucking favor. And what do I get for it? Shit-canned, is what I get. Dante tried to talk me out of it, but he didn't really have any strong arguments. So I just shot them before they became a problem. And anyways, that wasn't the only time I took preventative measures. That was just the most publicized time.
Looking back at it, I guess I took the wrong tac, you know? But I can't be blamed: I wasn't the only one caught up in all the anti-Evolved hoohah. I mean, it was scary times, man. Fuck, people were getting hurt all the time. And working overtime, arresting all these idiots… I mean, it settled out after a while, but you want justice, you take what you can get. I suppose it wasn't really justice, in the end. But I stand by that it made sense at the time!
Where was I? Right. Shit-canned! They fuckin' fired me from the police force, of course. Loose cannon this, cold blood that. Oh I was pissed. And you know why else I was pissed? Dante didn't get fired. Asshole! And cherry on the fucking top? Dante's little "intuition"—I asked him about it. I was a bit suspicious, cause he always seemed to have this real uncanny ability to pick up on little details, and sometimes even tell when something was coming. That kind of thing. I asked him straight up if he was one of these Evolved, and he said yes! Yes! I feel so bad for him, you know. Forced to live like that. Ugh. I punched him, you know. For not telling me.
Whatshoot him? Fuck, no. He's my friend! He's practically my brother! He's not unstable or anything, and he's not like a lot of the others; he just needs some help. You know, I heard some place… Pinehearst? Was working on a cure for the powers. Between you and methat means, stop writing, Glasses—between you and me, I think he's in danger while he's got these powers. I'm going to try and stop them. Get him cured, you know? Then he can breathe easy.
So. Where was I? Right, shit-canned. I know, I'm a talky one. But you're the one who wanted the interview, so suck it up. I spent a few weeks in the apartment eating pork and beans and thinking about my life, since y'know, the force was what I'd aimed for since college, and I really didn't have many other ambitions. And I obviously couldn't make detective now, with demerits like that. When I was in high school, I had aspirations to be a crime boss, but that's a stupid aspiration. I mean, who's a crime boss anymore? Though the police are still pretty tied up. Comparatively.
Anyways. Crime boss, not going to work out. So I started doing some investigation of my own. I mean, I'm a copwas a cop. And Forensics Specialistat least, that's what my resume says. But of course my ex-boss didn't like that at all, so after a few warnings, maybe a night or two in jail, I had to try a new tac. Thankfully, at that point I was picked up by the Company. A couple of agents approached me, asked me how I'd like to be involved in the investigation and detainment of Evolved. Oh let me tell you, I was thrilled. After all of Dante's nagging "get a job, get a job," I had a job. As far as he knew, I had a job with Homeland Security. It's great.
So I've been a Company agent since then. Dante quit the force at some point, citing some bullshit about falling off the radar before something big hit, or whatever. And much to my surprise, he joined with the Company not too long after. And y'know… they did their whole shpiel, about how I really needed to follow directions, or whatever. You know, covering their asses. I get it, we all have to do that kind of thing in the corporate world. And of course, you know the policy: One of Us, One of Them. They paired me with him, which is great because we work pretty good together, if I do say so myself. And we've been doing pretty well together, too.
But the Company's been good to me, and I'm proud to call myself a Company girl. I do a lot of investigation and forensics for the Company: it's just like my old job, but even better. And once in a while, I even get to bag-and-tag, when regulation allows for it. I'd be doing it more, if Dante weren't such a fuddy-duddy. And Bob, he tries to dissuade me too. But you know how Bob is. He just doesn't get my vision. Buuuut. Anyways, that's what I've been doing for the last few years. Not much else to tell. Mostly keeping my nose clean, getting shit done. Because that's what I do: Get. Shit. Done. Is that all you need? Great, because I'm dying for a coffee. You want to run and get me one? Look, I'm asking you nicely. …No, I can't just do it myself. I've made myself comfy here in this little cot— Look, the coffee's right over there, and you're already up. Just walk across the room and fill me a styrofoam cup. It's really quite simple. Look, it's fuckin' sixty below outside and I'm stuck out of my apartment in this shelter hell hole— No, shut up! Hey, you wanted my story, so return the goddamn— Finally! Good boy. Oh and, hey, if they have any cream—
*click*
Isa is a person whose moral compass adapts easily, and who is very comfortable with rationalizing away double standards and viewing everything as a means to her end. She has a very volatile personality, with a quick temper and a superiority complex: when she knows she's good at something, she declares she's better than everyone else; when she knows she's bad at something, it's something she could easily learn if she cared, which she doesn't, so shut up. She has no moral quandaries about killing and death, and there are few who know how exactly how to deal with her quirks. Her compatriot Dante Lupinetti knows just how to get her to put down the gun; and even if he's absent, she's developed an annoying little "inner Dante" that provides most of her conscience, aside from her basic, flighty moral compass. She can get along with people alright on the surface, although not many people are likely to get along well with her: she's a bit of a princess when she's not being a morally bankrupt bitch.
When she manifests her powers, she's likely to hate them at first, but swiftly use that means-to-an-end double standard of hers to embrace them as a tool. While she originally hated and despised Evolved as demons among men, as time went on and she spent more time around Dante and later her experiences at the Company, she started to accept that maybe not all of them were bad and some of them were worth keeping around. But there are still a whole heck of a lot of Unknowns out there, and Unknowns are scary and potentially dangerous. So as far as she's concerned, they don't earn her trust very easily, she's very wary of them, and she's much more apt to kill in self-defense with an Evolved than with a normal person.
As for Registration, Isa feels strongly that Registration is the way to go, as it's the best way to know which ones are dangerous, and which ones are okay to think about trusting, at a glance. If it were up to her, all the Evolved would be Registered. Except for her, of course. (After all, she's not dangerous. Duh.)
COAGULATION
Isa has the ability to control the platelets in blood, in order to stem bleeding from a wound by making it scab over. She cannot close a wound longer than her hand or deeper than an inch, though she might be able to either patch it up in places. This takes intense concentration, though if she's interrupted she doesn't lose what progress she's already made. She also must be touching the person's body as she does this. If the wound is particularly wide, it may help and reduce the exertion it takes if she holds the edges of the wound together, but if the wound is too wide (like a big chunk of flesh was taken out, for example) it isn't going to work to close the wound. At that point, she can just hope to scab over some of the worst parts of the injury. She can only do this on one injury at a time.
BLOOD CONTROL
Isa can control blood, in a limited fashion. Outside of the body, she can move it around a bit, make patterns; nothing too fancy, or useful. It must be wet bloodpreferably new bloodand she can better control her own blood than someone else's. Inside the body, however, she's able to direct a person's blood flow. While she can't reverse a person's bloodflow, she can still guide the blood along its set path to where she wants it—or away from where she doesn't want it. For example, she can stem the flow of blood to a person's brain long enough to make them black out; she can do the same to an extremity to cause pins and needles and their limb falling asleep. She can also, with concentration, have some limited control over her victim's blood pressure, making it drop or heighten. Cutting off someone's blood flow long enough to kill them, however, or to start killing tissue, is just barely within the reach of her abilities. To do so would take a ton out of her, leaving her sick and weak, and there's a good chance she'll black out before she can manage it. She can only do blood control on a single target, and they must be within sight, and close enough that she can recognize facial features. She can also only do, at maximum, one limb at a time.
OVEREXERTION
In all of these cases, if she uses it too much or too long, she will get physically weak, with symptoms manifesting as light-headedness, dizziness, reduced ability to concentrate, nausea, or headaches. If she persists trying, she will likely get physically ill (throwing up, fainting). Her maximum length of concentration she can handle is between fifteen and twenty seconds. If she over-reaches her abilities as well, as in trying to fit more than one target for example, she'll get hit pretty hard with the symptoms. Past the twenty second mark, she will be unable to handle using her powers again until she takes a rest, forcibly (by fainting) or otherwise. A rest is either a period of sleep a half hour or longer, or a period of relative inactivity for four hours or longer.
For example: Isabella tries to coagulate her own blood in a knife wound 0.75" thick and 4" long. By holding the edges together, this takes approximately eight seconds of hefty concentration, and leaves her feeling a little dizzy and headachey.
Isabella moves a man's blood-flow away from his brain: this takes relatively little effort. Holding it back from his brain long enough for him to pass out takes a bit more concentration, probably five to seven seconds, which will leave her feeling dizzy and headachey. If she wants the guy to be passed out for a /while/, she has to keep the oxygen away a bit longer, and so has to keep concentrating. Say, ten to twelve seconds by now. She's started feeling nauseous, and she's having a hard time keeping her focus. If she want to kill him, she has to give it her all, for the last of the twenty seconds, and if she doesn't pass out cold before she manages it, she'll probably do so by the end.
Another One Bites the Dust - Queen