I'm going to let people sign up with a variety of characters today. Post below with all the various characters you feel like maybe writing today, in one post
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(This is the second time I've written these two in sickbay, I think I rather like it)
"Are you alive?"
The question had passed her lips so many times, yet Caprica had never had to hear it. She had never considered what it would mean to have to answer it. Other words were thrown at her more frequently.
Was she human, did she have a conscience, a soul.
No one had ever questioned if she was alive.
If they had always assumed, did that make it so?
Laura Roslin did not seem to be truly asking her, though. In fact, she seemed to be rather angrily asking herself.
"Are you dying?" The president huffed. "How long do you have to frakking live."
Caprica stayed quiet, unsure of why she had been brought, she decided it was best not to ask. Her fingers toyed with the link of the cuffs at her wrists, but she kept her eyes on the woman before her.
The president was pale, and the darkness of her hair made her appear more sallow skinned that she really was. An IV was taped to her hand, and Caprica knew the liquid dripping into her veins was poison.
A disease that could consume you from the inside, whose only combatant was something that would also slowly kill the host.
She curled her hands in her lap, wondering why a species that could be so brutal to their ill would consider themselves the ones with souls.
"You could break those easily."
Caprica jerked her focus to Roslin's face, surprised at suddenly being so directly addressed.
"I've seen one of you do it in the past," the older woman continued.
"I am shackled for a reason."
"Their peace of mind," she waved the hand that wasn't taped towards the security team silhouetted outside the curtain around her bed. "Do you think not breaking them will make them trust you?"
"I have no reason to."
"You don't, do you?"
Caprica got the impression they hadn't really been discussing the handcuffs.
"What do you have to break?" She found herself asking. Maybe questioning would help her through the metaphor.
"I can't break. There's nothing else to hold me."
Caprica turned her eyes down, not from shame; but because she did not think the president would accept her condolences about not being able receive a new body over her ailing one.
"Are you alive?"
The question had passed her lips so many times, yet Caprica had never had to hear it. She had never considered what it would mean to have to answer it. Other words were thrown at her more frequently.
Was she human, did she have a conscience, a soul.
No one had ever questioned if she was alive.
If they had always assumed, did that make it so?
Laura Roslin did not seem to be truly asking her, though. In fact, she seemed to be rather angrily asking herself.
"Are you dying?" The president huffed. "How long do you have to frakking live."
Caprica stayed quiet, unsure of why she had been brought, she decided it was best not to ask. Her fingers toyed with the link of the cuffs at her wrists, but she kept her eyes on the woman before her.
The president was pale, and the darkness of her hair made her appear more sallow skinned that she really was. An IV was taped to her hand, and Caprica knew the liquid dripping into her veins was poison.
A disease that could consume you from the inside, whose only combatant was something that would also slowly kill the host.
She curled her hands in her lap, wondering why a species that could be so brutal to their ill would consider themselves the ones with souls.
"You could break those easily."
Caprica jerked her focus to Roslin's face, surprised at suddenly being so directly addressed.
"I've seen one of you do it in the past," the older woman continued.
"I am shackled for a reason."
"Their peace of mind," she waved the hand that wasn't taped towards the security team silhouetted outside the curtain around her bed. "Do you think not breaking them will make them trust you?"
"I have no reason to."
"You don't, do you?"
Caprica got the impression they hadn't really been discussing the handcuffs.
"What do you have to break?" She found herself asking. Maybe questioning would help her through the metaphor.
"I can't break. There's nothing else to hold me."
Caprica turned her eyes down, not from shame; but because she did not think the president would accept her condolences about not being able receive a new body over her ailing one.
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I wasn't sure where this was going when I wrote it; but I have to say I'm happy with this little bit of oddness.
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