Prompt Post Round 1
Prompts go here! This will be closed and a new post made at 3000 comments. Please link all fills to the Round 1 Fill Post.
This post is closed to new prompts! Post prompts at Round 2! Fills and comments can still be posted here.
This post is closed to new prompts! Post prompts at Round 2! Fills and comments can still be posted here.
ah, no worries. this request gave me an idea that's been festering in my brain all night, so I might as well post what i've got. Don't really know where i'm going with it, but I hope you like it.
She pulls out a card from the bottom of the stack. “What do you see?”
Brief pause. “I see an ink blot.”
“That’s right, it is an ink blot, but lets forget that for a moment. What does it resemble?”
“A blot of ink.”
“Listen, I understand you tend to take things very literally, but the point of this exercise is to use your imagination---”
“False.”
“Excuse me?”
“The Rorschach test was invented by Swiss psychologist Dr. Hermann Rorschach as a way to understand an individual’s psyche.”
“Uh, yes, that’s actually---”
“Fact: the Swiss are notorious liars who first used the method as a means to perfect their mind control abilities.”
The doctor sighs and presses her fingers against the bridge of her nose. She suddenly needs aspirin. “Look, lets try this one more time, all right?” She lifts a fresh card.
“What do you see?”
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“Ooh, what’s that?”
She holds the card loosely in her hand; she’s been holding these cards up since nine this morning and her patience has been sanded to the quick. “Its called the Rorschach test. Basically, we show you a picture of an ink stain---”
“Why?”
“---so that we can get an idea what goes on in your mind when you---”
“Who are you?”
The doctor rubs her eye with the heel of her hand. “I met you on Wednesday, remember? We had that little chat---”
She’s leaning forward now, tiny hands digging into the plastic chair between her legs. “Where am I?”
“Somewhere safe. We’re going to help you.”
Her eyes freeze on the cards in the doctor’s lap. She squirms slightly. “Ooh, what’s that?”
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“All right, lets get started, shall we? What do you---”
“Nebula.”
“And, this?”
“Comet. Uh-uhh. Two comets.”
“And---”
“Satellite. Hubble. Taking, taking pictures of---”
“How about this?”
“Galaxy. Galaxies.”
“You’re doing very well, Mr.---”
“Gotta go. I gotta go to… gotta go---”
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The doctor is usually opposed to this sort of activity, but at the very least it might save them some time spent on therapy. They sit in a quiet, sparsely-decorated room. Its bright inside, the windows casting daylight on those sterile white walls.
“It’s a lovely day outside.” Not that you can see it. The windows are too high up- they wouldn’t want anyone to try and jump out. “The birds are out.” Not that you can hear them. “Does anyone want to share a thought?”
Curiosity’s hand shoots up, waving spastically. Space is mumbling to himself, eyes transfixed on the windows. ‘Rick’ doesn’t even wait. “You want to know what I think, little lady?” His large hands make a frame, and he squints though it. “You look beautiful in this light.”
The doctor scowls. ‘Rick’ is built like an ox, with the mental capacity to match. His arms are all sinew; his face is craggy but handsome, as if a blacksmith had pounded it into shape with a hammer. He insists on being called Rick. According to his file, this is not his birth name.
“Thank you, Rick.” The doctor says curtly. She glances around the room. “Would anyone else like to speak?”
“Oh! Oh!” Curiosity’s hand is flapping, one arm holding up the other. “I saw a caterpillar outside!”
The doctor smiles thinly. “Oh, really?”
“Yes! But then---” her face falls, and she looks over at Fact. “He squished it.”
He already looks bored. “I checked to make sure it wasn’t remote-detonating.”
“Like a bomb?” says the doctor.
“The US government is currently funding research into the development of insect explosives.”
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“That’s an, uh, interesting theory,” the doctor says.
He glares. “Its not a theory. It’s a fact.“
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“Hello,” The doctor says. She smiles kindly. “How are you this afternoon? I heard you had some guests this morning.”
No response.
“I bet it was nice. And you spent some time outside, too. Isn’t the weather perfect this time of year? Its not too warm, not too cool.”
She’s looking at the floor. Her arms are wrapped tight around herself, her nails -trimmed short- pulling at the thin material of her t-shirt.
The doctor looks down at the cards on her lap. Well, its worth a try. She holds one up.
“Can you tell me what you see?”
For a while, the doctor thinks that she’s not going to respond- until she does. She looks up very slowly. Her dark, messy hair parts from her face, revealing one dim, lifeless, violet eye. The doctor didn’t even know violet eyes existed until she met her. She looks at the card. Her lips part slightly. She breathes.
Then she lowers her head again, looking at the floor. It’s the only reaction the doctor will get from her today.
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“Chocolate cake.”
The doctor pauses, smile frozen. She tilts the card slightly so she can look at it. “Ah, okay. Lets try another one.” She holds up a new card.
“Devil’s food cake.”
And then another.
“Red velvet cake.”
The doctor places the cards on her lap. She’s trying to keep a smile on her face, but she’s showing far too many teeth. “We talked about this, do you remember?”
There’s no recognition in those half-lidded blue eyes. The doctor removes her glasses briefly, inhales, forces herself to get a grip.
“I told you I’d see if they’d let you in the kitchen, but I can’t make any promises. I think they’re a little worried about your behavior.”
The woman frowns at this. “What’s wrong with my behavior? I make excellent cakes.”
“Its not about that. They’re just not, ah, comfortable with letting you near their utensils. Knives, for example. They wouldn’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself.”
“You don’t need knives to make cake. Only to cut cake. Someone else can cut the cake.”
“You’re misunderstanding me.”
“But I make great cakes, I know all the ingredients---”
“---okay, listen to me, don’t start---”
Too late. The woman covers her ears and shifts so that she’s sitting cross-legged in her chair. Her eyes go hazy. “Two cups sugar. Four eggs. Two-and-a-half cups all purpose flour. One cup milk.”
The doctor sighs, irritated. She taps a fingernail against the cards. “Look, you don’t have to do this, all right? I believe you.”
“Three-fourths cup vegetable oil. Two and one-fourth teaspoons baking powder.”
“Stop, okay? Please stop.”
“1 teaspoon vanilla. And don’t forget frosting. Vanilla frosting. Chocolate frosting. Cream cheese frosting. Strawberry frosting.”
“All right, all right. I think we’re done here.”
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aaand that's what i've got so far. when (if) i continue hopefully i'll have some semblance of plot. :I
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Seriously, though, I'm really enjoying all these little snippets, and am really looking forward to seeing more, if you decide to write it!
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Also, I have to say I absolutely love how you characterized Fact, with his facts translating into that paranoia. The way you described him is perfect - I could just see him in his chair when I read that paragraph.
Lovely job! Keep going. :D
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Fact, Rick, and Space
Logic, Curiosity, and Morality
A design for Anger and a possible GLaDOS/Caroline. Also an android GLaDOS, but that's not important.
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just
just give me a minute to formulate a response
...
I LOVE YOU.
fffuck i'm gonna get writing right away THANK YOU SO MUCH <33
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i keep forgetting what it actually means herp derp
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ME GUSTA.
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Here's some photobucket links.
http://i384.photobucket.com/albums/oo287/Nakkirz/Portal-psychwarddesigns1.png
http://i384.photobucket.com/albums/oo287/Nakkirz/Portal-psychwarddesigns2.png
http://i384.photobucket.com/albums/oo287/Nakkirz/Portal-psychwarddesigns3.png
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Space pokes Morality in the face with a finger. She doesn’t even twitch.
“Hey, hey, hey. Hey. Hey lady.”
The doctor scowls. “Leave her alone. She doesn’t have to speak if she doesn’t want to.”
Space glances over at the doctor, but he can’t keep eye contact. His eyes rove the room hungrily, searching for something to center on. “What do you like about space?”
She’s answered this a hundred times. “I like the moon---”
“The moons good, yeah, I like the moon. I like, stars. And. And I like the sun. And Saturn.” He tugs at his outgrown, curly hair, a nervous habit the doctor was still trying to stop. “I’m gonna go to space!”
‘Rick’ snorts. “NASA doesn’t accept psychopaths, son.”
The doctor shoots him a warning glare.
“Gonna, yeah, gonna go to space.”
“Fact: the average adult male is susceptible to spontaneous combustion when exposed to space.”
This throws him off. Space looks at Fact briefly, blank. “That’s not true.”
Fact folds his hands in his lap. The doctor often gets the impression that he doesn’t care how his ‘facts’ are received; its as if he’s just the messenger, reciting tidbits of inaccurate trivia and watching on apathetically. “It is true. I know everything.”
“No--- no you don’t.” Space’s hands have gone from pulling on his hair to tugging his shirt, arms crossed. He can never quite look people in the eye, and the doctor knows that Fact’s listless stare frightens him the most. As it is, Space’s eyes constantly roam the room, sometimes locking on corners or at the sky with unequivocal yearning. “I’m the best at space. I can g-g-go to space whenever I want to. When ever, whenever they want me to. Its just, I’m not ready.” He rocks slightly. “They said I’m not ready.”
“He said ‘the average adult male’ is allergic to space,” Rick says, cracking his knuckles one by one. “And anyone can see that you’re not average.”
The doctor can’t tell whether Rick is trying to encourage him or antagonize him. Either way, Space ducks his head and frowns at the ground, resenting his situation or maybe just gravity.
“I gotta, gotta, gotta gotospace…”
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“What do you see?”
The wheelchair squeaks from his constant shaking. His eyes, still foggy with sleep, follow the cracks between the tiles on the floor, not even looking up.
“Hhh-hhhhggg….”
“Can you look up for me, please?”
“I don’t--- I don’t see anything!”
“Not on the ground, on the card,” the doctor says gently.
She doesn’t want to make him angry. No, she definitely doesn’t want that.
His eyes flicker up briefly, look back down at the floor again. “Its--- its nothing.”
She frowns. “Its an ink blot. All you have to do is tell me what it looks like. We’re not here to judge you---” she winces. Maybe it would be better if he didn’t know that their conversation wasn’t private. He doesn’t seem to notice, though. “---I just want to help you.”
He sighs. His voice is torn ragged from screaming, his mouth and lips dark against his sickly skin. He’s all jagged edges, wrapped up in a straight-jacket; sharp elbows and narrow shoulders. The only curve is his back, bent over himself like a wilted flower. He looks up mockingly, like he’s struggling with teenage angst rather than the suspected beginnings of critical dementia. “It doesn’t--- look like anything. This is stupid.”
The doctor takes a deep breath, tries to calm her nerves. “It may help.” It sounds pathetic, she thinks. There’s not much that can treat cognitive deterioration.
“I want to go home.”
“You can‘t go home right now,” she says. “Do you remember what happened?”
His head snaps up. Lip curls. “I’m not an idiot.”
“I never said you w---”
“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” He struggles, trying to stand. His arms writhe like snakes in their confinements. “You’re- I don’t know who you think you are, but I heard them talking, I hear what they‘re saying and I, I KNOW what you‘re up to---”
She’s lost him. She gets up, backs away. The cards fall to the floor with a quiet slap.
“--I hhhhaven’t d-done ANYTHING WRONG, you can’t KEEP ME LIKE TTTHIS---!”
She leaves before the orderlies can pin him down.
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“I see an explosion.”
She nods, lifts another card.
“It looks like fire. Black fire. The worst kind.”
“Why is black fire the worst kind?” And you know it doesn’t exist, right?
“Its, just, look at it. It looks dangerous!”
“I’m sure black fire is as dangerous as regular fire. Lets try a new card---”
“Aww, you don‘t have to be scared of the fire, sweetheart. Rick’ll keep you safe.”
She scowls and lifts a new card. “What do you see?”
“Huh. That’s, uh, a tough one,” he scratches his chin. “Some sort of bird I guess? Or maybe--- heheh. No. Better it PG, for now.”
“Uh-huh. Well, Rick, that’s all the cards---”
“What score did I get?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know. Did I get them all right?”
“Ah, you see, its not about scores. The answer can be anything you like---”
“So what you’re saying is, I got them all wrong.”
“I never said that.”
“Can I do it again?”
She fakes a glance at her watch. “Sorry, but our time is up---”
“Come on!” He leans forward, puts on his most charming smile. She might’ve been swayed by it if he wasn’t delusional. “Just one more chance. It’ll take five seconds.”
She hesitates. Sighs, resigned. Holds up the first card. “What do you see?”
He concentrates. Squints, rubs his chin. Then he glances up.
“An explosion
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livejournal why u do this
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Also aww, exams. I feel your pain. <3
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