On Scientific Inquiry...
Characters: Jay & Cast
Date and Time: December 24th.... some time later on.
Setting: France! Because I can. Likely (Hopefully!) AU
Summary: This is why I should not write Christmas Gifts after being to the Mutter Museum and reading this. Or with Rum...
Rating: Probably not PG, maybe not even PG-13...
Pierre;
Bon après-midi! I am writing to you not in haste but in great news! While this is not a letter of leisure, I do hope you and your studies and children are well…
….Mutations have always been a part of our daily lives, though not in the sense that the news reels and papers. For centuries, for centuries upon centuries the human body has been evolving, causing men to walk upright, and children to be born with two heads. Each tragedy and triumph is due to a mutation of various genes; be it the CYP26A1 - causing sirenomelic infants (or mermaid syndrome, for a term of the common man) or the Sonic Hedge-Hog gene, causing cycolpsia and wide-set eyes. Given their first times of discovery, they were thought of as much the freaks and terrors that these people today create by simply walking down the street. I suppose however, that the aforementioned were less of a ‘threat’ as many died in infancy, while such terrors as ‘Magneto’ are full grown men.
Just as in the men from Academie Royale de Medecine studied Ritta & Christina Parodis, girls with two heads in the 1829; we too are under expectation to understand the monsters around us. The issue we (my colleagues and I) run into however, is there is no longer the lowest class to lift their bodies up from. No, these mutants are of all classes- rich and poor, middle and working class. To simply find a body up for donation; a feat difficult of the common born man, becomes impossible when differences occur. Do these people (a loose term) understand what they are depriving science of? Do they understand what even a single hand may offer in the way of comprehension and cure?
Thankfully, blessed be to whomever is up there, we ran upon our very first opportunity this last week. A girl-child of no more than sixteen or seventeen, was shot outside of the city; honestly thought to be a bird in flight. The farmer came to the local authorities in tears, swearing that it was a misunderstanding and begging for leniency of judgment. My brother-in-law, Michael an Officer at that particular division called my office while they were still on their way. It was mid-way between us, and shortly thereafter my research assistants (wonderful boys, if ever a set deserved a letter of recommendation…) hopped into my little Jetta and rushed out to meet them there…
In the packet I sent with this letter, you will see the police and my own reports in regards to her bodily placement, the amount (or lack thereof) of blood, and the position of her wings. They were beautiful things, burnt red that spread to what we found to be 198cm in width from wing-tip to wing-tip. The girl herself was stunning, a petite frame and a model’s face. Though slight in frame, it was easy for us to imagine what she would have looked like, should she had been given the chance to grow up. We named her Jane Dove, in lieu of Doe. Ms. Dove had obviously been shot in the back and neck, severing the spinal cord just under the base of her skull; there was no exit wound, which led us to believe the farmer’s bullet was still imbedded within. Using my words of persuasion, and the University’s pocket book, we were able to acquire the corpse once it was confirmed there was no formal form of identification upon her former person. Though she had been dead for several hours at this point, her body was surprisingly mobile, and we quickly wrapped her up in a body bag and sheet, tucking her into the back seat and bringing her back for an autopsy.
Jay was not dead. No matter what the man had cried after shooting her, no matter what the police and men in suits were yelling at each other in other languages. No, she was not dead but there was no way to prove it to them. The pain that had exploded like fireworks in the back of her school had not yet ebbed, giving her the impression that the bullet that must have hit her in flight, was still there. It was the only explanation possible for her lack of movement of anything below her ears. The pain was excessive, but she had endured worse, it was the blood loss that caused her to pass out shortly before they loaded her up. She just had to wake up! That was all she needed to do! Wake up, and somehow (by blinking or tears or cries out) inform these strangers that her name was Jay, not Jane.
She woke again as they moved her about, positioning her arms and wings this way and that, rarely giving her face (and thus; her plan) a moment’s notice. Measurements and photos were taken, indecency and embarrassment not have thought of. Not for the first time since the gun-shot, Jay wished she had been more informative about where she was going that day. That the others, her team would come looking for her… but that was her last thought, the bumps on the road pushing her back to oblivion.
While her internal organs where similar in aspect and design to the normal man’s, though heart appeared to beat at 4X the speed of typical necessity when prompted with electrical charge and the lungs showing some differences- which is currently still under study. The skeletal structure was the greatest of note as they were hollow, each and every one as a bird’s; which must have aided her in flight. Oh how I wish she was alive to question her! To see her soar as she must have been spectacular, the police reports give little way to definition of how she flew, but we can guess…
|------------------------|
They never removed the bullet from her neck, instead saving it to put on display with other oddities, the hollow bone and bullet. An oddity, nice and interesting; especially when they pre-dated it several decades before it became illegal to put mutant parts on display. Other bits- her eyes, hands and wings made their rounds; visited various schools and museums to teach future doctors and researchers about the genetic codes. How they are formed, and possibly, hopefully- fix them. ‘Jane Dove’ became famous in certain circles, and the team dedicated to cure and understanding was named the ‘Dove Institute’.
For good reason.
Date and Time: December 24th.... some time later on.
Setting: France! Because I can. Likely (Hopefully!) AU
Summary: This is why I should not write Christmas Gifts after being to the Mutter Museum and reading this. Or with Rum...
Rating: Probably not PG, maybe not even PG-13...
Pierre;
Bon après-midi! I am writing to you not in haste but in great news! While this is not a letter of leisure, I do hope you and your studies and children are well…
….Mutations have always been a part of our daily lives, though not in the sense that the news reels and papers. For centuries, for centuries upon centuries the human body has been evolving, causing men to walk upright, and children to be born with two heads. Each tragedy and triumph is due to a mutation of various genes; be it the CYP26A1 - causing sirenomelic infants (or mermaid syndrome, for a term of the common man) or the Sonic Hedge-Hog gene, causing cycolpsia and wide-set eyes. Given their first times of discovery, they were thought of as much the freaks and terrors that these people today create by simply walking down the street. I suppose however, that the aforementioned were less of a ‘threat’ as many died in infancy, while such terrors as ‘Magneto’ are full grown men.
Just as in the men from Academie Royale de Medecine studied Ritta & Christina Parodis, girls with two heads in the 1829; we too are under expectation to understand the monsters around us. The issue we (my colleagues and I) run into however, is there is no longer the lowest class to lift their bodies up from. No, these mutants are of all classes- rich and poor, middle and working class. To simply find a body up for donation; a feat difficult of the common born man, becomes impossible when differences occur. Do these people (a loose term) understand what they are depriving science of? Do they understand what even a single hand may offer in the way of comprehension and cure?
Thankfully, blessed be to whomever is up there, we ran upon our very first opportunity this last week. A girl-child of no more than sixteen or seventeen, was shot outside of the city; honestly thought to be a bird in flight. The farmer came to the local authorities in tears, swearing that it was a misunderstanding and begging for leniency of judgment. My brother-in-law, Michael an Officer at that particular division called my office while they were still on their way. It was mid-way between us, and shortly thereafter my research assistants (wonderful boys, if ever a set deserved a letter of recommendation…) hopped into my little Jetta and rushed out to meet them there…
In the packet I sent with this letter, you will see the police and my own reports in regards to her bodily placement, the amount (or lack thereof) of blood, and the position of her wings. They were beautiful things, burnt red that spread to what we found to be 198cm in width from wing-tip to wing-tip. The girl herself was stunning, a petite frame and a model’s face. Though slight in frame, it was easy for us to imagine what she would have looked like, should she had been given the chance to grow up. We named her Jane Dove, in lieu of Doe. Ms. Dove had obviously been shot in the back and neck, severing the spinal cord just under the base of her skull; there was no exit wound, which led us to believe the farmer’s bullet was still imbedded within. Using my words of persuasion, and the University’s pocket book, we were able to acquire the corpse once it was confirmed there was no formal form of identification upon her former person. Though she had been dead for several hours at this point, her body was surprisingly mobile, and we quickly wrapped her up in a body bag and sheet, tucking her into the back seat and bringing her back for an autopsy.
Jay was not dead. No matter what the man had cried after shooting her, no matter what the police and men in suits were yelling at each other in other languages. No, she was not dead but there was no way to prove it to them. The pain that had exploded like fireworks in the back of her school had not yet ebbed, giving her the impression that the bullet that must have hit her in flight, was still there. It was the only explanation possible for her lack of movement of anything below her ears. The pain was excessive, but she had endured worse, it was the blood loss that caused her to pass out shortly before they loaded her up. She just had to wake up! That was all she needed to do! Wake up, and somehow (by blinking or tears or cries out) inform these strangers that her name was Jay, not Jane.
She woke again as they moved her about, positioning her arms and wings this way and that, rarely giving her face (and thus; her plan) a moment’s notice. Measurements and photos were taken, indecency and embarrassment not have thought of. Not for the first time since the gun-shot, Jay wished she had been more informative about where she was going that day. That the others, her team would come looking for her… but that was her last thought, the bumps on the road pushing her back to oblivion.
While her internal organs where similar in aspect and design to the normal man’s, though heart appeared to beat at 4X the speed of typical necessity when prompted with electrical charge and the lungs showing some differences- which is currently still under study. The skeletal structure was the greatest of note as they were hollow, each and every one as a bird’s; which must have aided her in flight. Oh how I wish she was alive to question her! To see her soar as she must have been spectacular, the police reports give little way to definition of how she flew, but we can guess…
|------------------------|
They never removed the bullet from her neck, instead saving it to put on display with other oddities, the hollow bone and bullet. An oddity, nice and interesting; especially when they pre-dated it several decades before it became illegal to put mutant parts on display. Other bits- her eyes, hands and wings made their rounds; visited various schools and museums to teach future doctors and researchers about the genetic codes. How they are formed, and possibly, hopefully- fix them. ‘Jane Dove’ became famous in certain circles, and the team dedicated to cure and understanding was named the ‘Dove Institute’.
For good reason.