First Floor Parlor [Saturday evening]

[pasunereveuse]

Celia had grown tired of the strange coldness of the room she shared with Eleanor -- it came and went, in patches and bursts, and something about the room made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. As much as she loved the architecture and design of the house, and as much as it was almost a relic of home...perhaps it had been left too long on

Comments

[nobloodymessiah]

"Why did you change the channel?" Eleanor asked, from her position in the doorway. She'd just been wandering by, but, well. People giving themselves new faces. It was darkly fascinating, and reminded her of the Medical Pavilion in Rapture.

[pasunereveuse]

"I didn't," Celia said, frowning at the remote, still. "It did that on its own. Is that common?"

[nobloodymessiah]

"Perhaps you bumped the remote control without meaning to," Eleanor offered, strolling in to take a seat on the nearest chair. "I've done that before. Or maybe the technology itself had a momentary glitch. These things can be so temperamental."

[pasunereveuse]

"I don't understand them at all," Celia sighed, warily plucking the remote back up and trying to pick back through the channels to find the one with the fascinating surgery show. She slanted a look at Eleanor, in the meantime. "Did you have fun at your first Independence Day? I'm assuming, anyway."

[fly_so_serious]

Joker took in the few moments of plastic surgeons with a sigh. "Well, it's good to know that Beverly Hills hasn't changed much in the past hundred and fifty years. Add a celebrity with a drug addiction, and it'll be just like TV back home."

[pasunereveuse]

"This is -- wait, this sort of surgery is normal?" Celia asked, horrified, as she flipped back to the correct channel again. So irritating and so unsettling, simultaneously. "It's not just some oddity that's being broadcast for television?"

[fly_so_serious]

"Well, most people don't put it on television for everyone to see, but... yeah." Joker shrugged apologetically. "I mean, plastic surgeons do important things, too, like fixing people's faces after horrifying accidents, but for everyone of them, there's like a hundred people who just don't like their nose. And thousands who want fewer wrinkles and bigger breasts."

[pasunereveuse]

Celia blushed bright red, because Victorian, but she was more puzzled than anything else. "Is there no longer any dignity in just aging gracefully?" she wondered indignantly. "People age. Just because science can answer vanity's call doesn't mean it should."

[iceolatedqueen]

Elsa was looking slightly perturbed as she made her way into the parlor. She had wanted to try to get an early sleep tonight, to perhaps to into town tomorrow to get away from this place and all of its eerie quirks, but something had taken to hovering over her head whenever her eyes were closed and she had half a mind to see if perhaps there was enough room to grab a nap on the sofa, at least.

Yes, she had taken the time to dress herself properly before heading down, though her hair was hanging in a loose braid over her shoulder. Pinning it all up again just to try to get some sleep seemed silly, at best.

"What in the world..."

She wasn't certain what that was on the television there, but she was half wondering if maybe she had been better off with the eerie feeling back in her room.

[nobloodymessiah]

"Plastic surgery gone wrong," Eleanor shared, from her position on a nearby chair. "People wanted to make themselves prettier, and the results were, to be charitable, suboptimal."

[iceolatedqueen]

"I... see..." Elsa stared in horror at the screen for a moment, and then inched her way over to a chair not far from Eleanor's. "And somebody thought that this needed to be recorded for posterity and shared with the entire world?"

Television still baffled Elsa, somewhat.

[nobloodymessiah]

"Have you ever seen something so horrifying that, while you don't necessarily want to look, you can't look away?" Eleanor asked. "A gruesome accident, perhaps, or a painful or humiliating conversation at the next table."

It seemed to be a very human impulse, to look closer at a trainwreck.

"It's being recorded for posterity for the most crass of reasons: money."