Laura | X-23-23 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shoplifter) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
riverviewlogs2017-09-19 01:48 am
shoplifter) wrote in riverviewlogs2017-09-19 01:48 am
[OPEN LOG] Someone should have gave her a Xanax first
who: Laura and you.
what: A hospital check-up gone very very wrong.
when: ~9/23/17 at the hospital, ~9/25/17 elsewhere.
where: The Riverview Hospital.
warnings: Some non-suicidal self-harm from a fast-healing child, traumatic reactions and panic attacks, loss of family, emotional stuff, etc. Lots of juicy introspection and diving into her mindset atm. Feel free to jump in wherever you'd like to contact me on plurk for plotting if you're unsure where to jump in! I've bolded potential things to have your character react to, as apology for getting so goddamn prose-y, but feel free to find whatever spot you wanna wedge into.
Laura has been in Riverview for quite a number of weeks now -- and on top of another one or two weeks from home, it's also how long she's been outside of a laboratory as its subject. She's a stubborn creature, and so taking on a whole new world outside of those four cement walls has been quite an experience. She's visited zoos, she's met robots she's liked, and there are people here like her, people who help her steal hats or take her for milkshakes. But there are also things she's faced that have continued to be... unfortunate hurdles.
Making friends her age has been... difficult, and she's not even sure she wants them yet. After all, there's a horrible ache in her chest when she things of the friends she'd been separated with back home. She's not remotely faced the death of Gabriela, nor of her father or Charles, not since the very moment they've died; she has dreams, terrible dreams, the kind where bad men are hurting her, but worse, the kind where Logan and Charles and Gabriela are alive. Alive and walking with her. Going out for milkshakes. Going to stores, or walking pretty forest trails without the threat of soldiers and withering bodies. Her father is healthy and strong in all of them, even if his beard is still salt and pepper.
The dreams always feel real for a ridiculous moment when she wakes in the early morning, but she pushes the wrenching pain in her chest down, dresses, and goes out to try and be a person. She'd promised her father without saying a word: Don't be what they made you. And yes, she's shoplifted (he hated that, even though he did it, too), she's used her claws for silly things, she's distrusted and used force where she felt it fair, and she'll fight in self-defense to the death if she must, but she has not turned into a weapon here. She's kept her promise. That is key. And yet, every time she thinks of the promise, she feels like her chest is going to explode. She's not sure what the feeling means, nor the feeling she gets when she thinks of her hand in Logan's, but she hates it. It makes her bitter toward him in a way she equally hates. She doesn't want to be angry at him for leaving so soon.
She doesn't even have any pictures she can look at, to remember him.
... Except the comics. She keeps them under her pillow and looks at them for Logan and Charles. Sometimes her floormates may find her sitting on the bed, a hand on one of the panels, carefully smoothing the page with Wolverine's face on it. It had only been a week with her father, the one week she'd wanted with her family, her daddy, but sometimes she wonders if it was better to not be with him at all. After all, look where it led them all -- for her. She has not once forgotten what he'd said about Caliban or Charles. They hadn't asked for that. Neither did the Munsons.
When she tells Linda she's never visited a 'pediatrician', the case worker is flummoxed. She schedules her an appointment, and the moment they enter the Riverview Hospital, Laura feels... a shift within herself. Her pupils dilate, her hands clench, and she feels needling memories trying to wriggle their way to the forefront of her mind. The place is bigger, more sterilized and impersonal, with uniformed nurses and doctors in familiar long coats.
"Watch the video, X-23, or we'll have to restrain you."
She didn't understand how wrong the videos were, in that room with Dr. Rice, until she stepped into the real world and didn't find corpses and blood and destruction outside where she walked.
She's nearly breaking the bones in Linda's hand as she's lead to the waiting room. She sits, twitching, and waits for a number of minutes as Linda fills out more paperwork for her. All the people in the room are horribly calm, bored even, and she tries to remind herself of that little homely doctor's office she'd dragged her father to. Not all doctors are bad. She knows. They just may be 'wolves in sheep's clothing'. They're often not who they seem to be. People thought Dr. Rice and the others were just doctors curing cancer, after all. Poor cancerous children, in need of saving, that's the talk she's heard from bitter nurses who hated Transigen.
Finally, after some time, she's called into the room, and the doctor gives her a little smile. She pulls away from the bloodpressure machine, but she relents to letting him check her tongue and throat. "You're a very healthy kid, Laura," he says cheerfully, "You are lacking in your shots. Are you scared of needles?"
She says a clipped no, but her eyes are staring distantly, away from him.
Around the time he presses the needle into her skin is when things go very wrong.
"Are we sure this is wise? Why not wait until X-23's mutation develops naturally?"
"It could be an added number of years, gentlemen, and we've little time to dawdle our budget on normalcy. Raise the radiation levels."
She can't remember exactly what happens, but she hears Linda scream her name as she's up on her feet, claws bursting from her skin -- claws that meet skin, but the doctor is at least fortunate enough to throw himself back from the wild swing of her arm before she can potentially kill him. The wound on his shoulder will need stitches, and despite the sight of it, a surprisingly brave Linda moves after the girl with a hand out and a worried, "Laura! Stop!"
"Raise the levels again. I want this surgery done as soon as possible."
Her father's claws came to him when he was thirteen; Laura does not know this.
What she does know is hers came in when she was ten.
Laura bursts forward with a scream and cuts the door of the patient room into pieces, shoving through the fragments and onto the main floor. Nurses and doctors all scramble at the sight of her, one claw with blood on it, the other glinting dangerously in the fluroescent lighting. She's not all there in the eyes, driven by something raw and instinctive while she goes rushing through the hospital. One may have the misfortunate of running into her there, panting and rabid, so lost to whatever's in her head that she can't differentiate the exits.
Maybe you'll have luck in apprehending her. Or maybe she'll hurt you. Just be careful, huh?
Either way, maybe it's better to show her how to leave, than trying to keep her put.
Whatever happens... Eventually, Laura will end up escaping her confines, or otherwise escape capture altogether. It's really not too hard, when you heal easily and can cut through anything that's not adamantium. She doesn't return to her home for a few days, too anxious that someone will be waiting there for her, to tell her she's unfit for the outside world. They could lock her up again. And she's not sure she could stomach solitary confinement as a home and life, not after french fries and awkward hugs, or foul-smelling fireworks, or... or toy stores... So she finds herself pacing through alleyways, trying to stave off an overwhelming feeling in her chest... The same she felt when her father comes to memory in the dead of night. Don't be what they made you. Don't be what they made you.
She's trying so hard not to be, but the claws almost have a mind of their own. They move when she can't find the mind to, ready to fight, ready to defend her, even against things she doesn't need to be saved from. Like... pediatrians. But he could have been poisoning her all over again. The serum made them stronger, and stronger means being used for 'nefarious plans'. It means breaking her wordless promise. With an impressive amount of energy, she cuts angry lines across the brickwork on some of the buildings, slicing up dumpsters, and eventually, she can be found sitting against a wall there, her expression worryingly blank as she runs her twin claws over the back of her arm and watching it heal up.
She's mentally drained from this past two months, and more than willing to listen to people now.
At the end of the week, she'll finally return to the apartment. Probably thanks to helpful words, really.
Linda will greet her nervously -- but she doesn't abandon her, and offers a kind smile that mirrors Gabriela's. "I'm sorry," she tells her quietly, and Linda surprises her by stepping timidly forward and pulling her head into her bosom, hugging her very gently; Laura hugs her back with blood-stained knuckles and closes her eyes, relinquishing control for just a moment.
When her head hits the pillow, she dreams about forest trails again.
Feel free to come find her after her hospital freak-out, these coming days.
what: A hospital check-up gone very very wrong.
when: ~9/23/17 at the hospital, ~9/25/17 elsewhere.
where: The Riverview Hospital.
warnings: Some non-suicidal self-harm from a fast-healing child, traumatic reactions and panic attacks, loss of family, emotional stuff, etc. Lots of juicy introspection and diving into her mindset atm. Feel free to jump in wherever you'd like to contact me on plurk for plotting if you're unsure where to jump in! I've bolded potential things to have your character react to, as apology for getting so goddamn prose-y, but feel free to find whatever spot you wanna wedge into.
Laura has been in Riverview for quite a number of weeks now -- and on top of another one or two weeks from home, it's also how long she's been outside of a laboratory as its subject. She's a stubborn creature, and so taking on a whole new world outside of those four cement walls has been quite an experience. She's visited zoos, she's met robots she's liked, and there are people here like her, people who help her steal hats or take her for milkshakes. But there are also things she's faced that have continued to be... unfortunate hurdles.
Making friends her age has been... difficult, and she's not even sure she wants them yet. After all, there's a horrible ache in her chest when she things of the friends she'd been separated with back home. She's not remotely faced the death of Gabriela, nor of her father or Charles, not since the very moment they've died; she has dreams, terrible dreams, the kind where bad men are hurting her, but worse, the kind where Logan and Charles and Gabriela are alive. Alive and walking with her. Going out for milkshakes. Going to stores, or walking pretty forest trails without the threat of soldiers and withering bodies. Her father is healthy and strong in all of them, even if his beard is still salt and pepper.
The dreams always feel real for a ridiculous moment when she wakes in the early morning, but she pushes the wrenching pain in her chest down, dresses, and goes out to try and be a person. She'd promised her father without saying a word: Don't be what they made you. And yes, she's shoplifted (he hated that, even though he did it, too), she's used her claws for silly things, she's distrusted and used force where she felt it fair, and she'll fight in self-defense to the death if she must, but she has not turned into a weapon here. She's kept her promise. That is key. And yet, every time she thinks of the promise, she feels like her chest is going to explode. She's not sure what the feeling means, nor the feeling she gets when she thinks of her hand in Logan's, but she hates it. It makes her bitter toward him in a way she equally hates. She doesn't want to be angry at him for leaving so soon.
She doesn't even have any pictures she can look at, to remember him.
... Except the comics. She keeps them under her pillow and looks at them for Logan and Charles. Sometimes her floormates may find her sitting on the bed, a hand on one of the panels, carefully smoothing the page with Wolverine's face on it. It had only been a week with her father, the one week she'd wanted with her family, her daddy, but sometimes she wonders if it was better to not be with him at all. After all, look where it led them all -- for her. She has not once forgotten what he'd said about Caliban or Charles. They hadn't asked for that. Neither did the Munsons.
When she tells Linda she's never visited a 'pediatrician', the case worker is flummoxed. She schedules her an appointment, and the moment they enter the Riverview Hospital, Laura feels... a shift within herself. Her pupils dilate, her hands clench, and she feels needling memories trying to wriggle their way to the forefront of her mind. The place is bigger, more sterilized and impersonal, with uniformed nurses and doctors in familiar long coats.
"Watch the video, X-23, or we'll have to restrain you."
She didn't understand how wrong the videos were, in that room with Dr. Rice, until she stepped into the real world and didn't find corpses and blood and destruction outside where she walked.
She's nearly breaking the bones in Linda's hand as she's lead to the waiting room. She sits, twitching, and waits for a number of minutes as Linda fills out more paperwork for her. All the people in the room are horribly calm, bored even, and she tries to remind herself of that little homely doctor's office she'd dragged her father to. Not all doctors are bad. She knows. They just may be 'wolves in sheep's clothing'. They're often not who they seem to be. People thought Dr. Rice and the others were just doctors curing cancer, after all. Poor cancerous children, in need of saving, that's the talk she's heard from bitter nurses who hated Transigen.
Finally, after some time, she's called into the room, and the doctor gives her a little smile. She pulls away from the bloodpressure machine, but she relents to letting him check her tongue and throat. "You're a very healthy kid, Laura," he says cheerfully, "You are lacking in your shots. Are you scared of needles?"
She says a clipped no, but her eyes are staring distantly, away from him.
Around the time he presses the needle into her skin is when things go very wrong.
"Are we sure this is wise? Why not wait until X-23's mutation develops naturally?"
"It could be an added number of years, gentlemen, and we've little time to dawdle our budget on normalcy. Raise the radiation levels."
She can't remember exactly what happens, but she hears Linda scream her name as she's up on her feet, claws bursting from her skin -- claws that meet skin, but the doctor is at least fortunate enough to throw himself back from the wild swing of her arm before she can potentially kill him. The wound on his shoulder will need stitches, and despite the sight of it, a surprisingly brave Linda moves after the girl with a hand out and a worried, "Laura! Stop!"
"Raise the levels again. I want this surgery done as soon as possible."
Her father's claws came to him when he was thirteen; Laura does not know this.
What she does know is hers came in when she was ten.
Laura bursts forward with a scream and cuts the door of the patient room into pieces, shoving through the fragments and onto the main floor. Nurses and doctors all scramble at the sight of her, one claw with blood on it, the other glinting dangerously in the fluroescent lighting. She's not all there in the eyes, driven by something raw and instinctive while she goes rushing through the hospital. One may have the misfortunate of running into her there, panting and rabid, so lost to whatever's in her head that she can't differentiate the exits.
Maybe you'll have luck in apprehending her. Or maybe she'll hurt you. Just be careful, huh?
Either way, maybe it's better to show her how to leave, than trying to keep her put.
Whatever happens... Eventually, Laura will end up escaping her confines, or otherwise escape capture altogether. It's really not too hard, when you heal easily and can cut through anything that's not adamantium. She doesn't return to her home for a few days, too anxious that someone will be waiting there for her, to tell her she's unfit for the outside world. They could lock her up again. And she's not sure she could stomach solitary confinement as a home and life, not after french fries and awkward hugs, or foul-smelling fireworks, or... or toy stores... So she finds herself pacing through alleyways, trying to stave off an overwhelming feeling in her chest... The same she felt when her father comes to memory in the dead of night. Don't be what they made you. Don't be what they made you.
She's trying so hard not to be, but the claws almost have a mind of their own. They move when she can't find the mind to, ready to fight, ready to defend her, even against things she doesn't need to be saved from. Like... pediatrians. But he could have been poisoning her all over again. The serum made them stronger, and stronger means being used for 'nefarious plans'. It means breaking her wordless promise. With an impressive amount of energy, she cuts angry lines across the brickwork on some of the buildings, slicing up dumpsters, and eventually, she can be found sitting against a wall there, her expression worryingly blank as she runs her twin claws over the back of her arm and watching it heal up.
She's mentally drained from this past two months, and more than willing to listen to people now.
At the end of the week, she'll finally return to the apartment. Probably thanks to helpful words, really.
Linda will greet her nervously -- but she doesn't abandon her, and offers a kind smile that mirrors Gabriela's. "I'm sorry," she tells her quietly, and Linda surprises her by stepping timidly forward and pulling her head into her bosom, hugging her very gently; Laura hugs her back with blood-stained knuckles and closes her eyes, relinquishing control for just a moment.
When her head hits the pillow, she dreams about forest trails again.
Feel free to come find her after her hospital freak-out, these coming days.