It makes sense. Taking care of one's assets. Making sure that everything you consume is strictly monitored and controlled. Only the best, to keep you in optimal physical and mental condition.
[His tone is acerbic. He can see the logic of it but certainly isn't about to applaud their methods.]
Were the actives allowed to eat whatever they wanted? Ice cream for breakfast? Deep fried mars bars and cake and hot dogs for lunch?
I'm presuming they were all kept on balanced diet. All the correct vitamin and nutrients to maintain peak health and fitness. I doubt any of you were allowed to become overweight, for example.
It might as well have been pellets.
[He pushes open the door to the kitchen for her. It almost has a mocking quality.]
[ she steps through, resisting a nonetheless patient roll of her eyes. it's still a more refreshing topic of conversation and their previous one. ]
We're all limited in what we eat. We balance what we want to taste with how we want to look. I assume you don't eat ice cream for breakfast either.
There was choice. There were desserts by request, and succulent fruit; the seafood dishes were particularly rich. It's not as if there was room for an entire grocery store. Do you also judge the moral integrity of restaurants based on their menus?
[He moves to inspect the pantry and refrigerator.]
Restaurants don't tend to keep their customers under contract, preventing them from being able to leave and have a different meal somewhere else if they choose to. Even if the menu changes, and a selection is allowed. It's still the same chef, the same management, and you're still being controlled.
I'm fairly certain the sous-chef de cuisine is an evil mastermind bent on world domination.
[Wesley starts gathering some ingredients and placing them on the counter. Pretty soon it will become clear that he's intending for them to have sandwiches - peanut butter and jam ones, to be exact. Although he's also retrieved a jar of Nutella in case she'd prefer that. He's also found some packets of crisps (pizza flavoured?) and a couple of green apples.
Instead of going about making the sandwiches for the both of them, however, he hands her a plate and a knife. If she's out of practice, she might as well start small.]
It's true that your position has more of a capacity for causing great harm to your charges than a saucier, however, it's also one which perhaps gives you the opportunity to do the most good. With the limited powers and responsibility at your disposal.
One works with what one has available at any given time.
[He starts to spread the crunchy peanut butter on a slice of the wholemeal bread.]
I think you're underestimating the power of a good spinach salad.
[ peanut butter and jam sandwiches. not exactly her first choice, but she has to admit that it's been longer than she can remember - quite literally - since she's had one. it has a faint but certain juvenile charm. since he starts with the peanut butter, she starts with the jam, having never acquired a taste for nutella on the few occasions she's sampled it. ]
What exactly is it you picture when you think of the Dollhouse?
[He gives her a small wry smile and when done with the peanut butter, sets it aside, waiting for Claire to finish with the jam. He opens a packet of the crisps and samples then, then makes a face.]
These are bloody awful. How on earth did they come up with the idea they tasted like pizzas?
[Not that he stops eating them.]
I suppose I imagine a cross between a laboratory, a correctional facility and a spa resort. I would presume there is a gymnasium or some other recreational area involving a fitness program. If you talk of multi-billion dollar corporations is anything to go by, the place would have state of the art technology and architectural design. Likely underground. I wasn't imagining a Gulag or Gitmo, at any rate.
[ it's a good guess. a very good guess. but then it's not as if he hasn't had time to consider it. finished with the jam, she reaches for the peanut butter and spreads it over her other slice of bread. ]
It's not so different from this place - though underground, as you assumed. Much less sun, less open space, noise. [ slightly sidetracked, she draws herself back to the point she was making. ] Most if it is one seamless, peaceful environment - including the lab. There is security, certain corridors leading to storage and maintenance rooms, but I wouldn't say they have the air of a correctional facility.
[ she presses the sandwich together and cuts the crust off one side, then the others. ]
[Wesley's still fixing his own sandwich, but again he finds himself watching her. Idly he wonders what it would be like to observe her conducting surgery or an autopsy. There is something about her manner which is both efficiently precise and rather graceful. The way she methodically cuts the crusts from her bread almost makes him chuckle softly, but he suppresses the urge. He doesn't want her to feel self-conscious.]
Of course. The more pleasant or safe it feels, the less likely anyone will want to escape it to the real world.
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I'm so out of practice when it comes to preparing my own meals.
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Were meals prepared for you while you were in the Dollhouse?
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For everyone. The staff, the actives. Five-star cuisine.
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[His tone is acerbic. He can see the logic of it but certainly isn't about to applaud their methods.]
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[ and hers is dry. he certainly is assuming a lot about an organisation he only knows the mission statement of. ]
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I'm presuming they were all kept on balanced diet. All the correct vitamin and nutrients to maintain peak health and fitness. I doubt any of you were allowed to become overweight, for example.
It might as well have been pellets.
[He pushes open the door to the kitchen for her. It almost has a mocking quality.]
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We're all limited in what we eat. We balance what we want to taste with how we want to look. I assume you don't eat ice cream for breakfast either.
There was choice. There were desserts by request, and succulent fruit; the seafood dishes were particularly rich. It's not as if there was room for an entire grocery store. Do you also judge the moral integrity of restaurants based on their menus?
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Restaurants don't tend to keep their customers under contract, preventing them from being able to leave and have a different meal somewhere else if they choose to. Even if the menu changes, and a selection is allowed. It's still the same chef, the same management, and you're still being controlled.
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[ she allows him to take charge of lunch, standing back and folding her arms. ]
If we're pointing fingers, my job has a markedly larger capacity for malevolence than the saucier's.
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[Wesley starts gathering some ingredients and placing them on the counter. Pretty soon it will become clear that he's intending for them to have sandwiches - peanut butter and jam ones, to be exact. Although he's also retrieved a jar of Nutella in case she'd prefer that. He's also found some packets of crisps (pizza flavoured?) and a couple of green apples.
Instead of going about making the sandwiches for the both of them, however, he hands her a plate and a knife. If she's out of practice, she might as well start small.]
It's true that your position has more of a capacity for causing great harm to your charges than a saucier, however, it's also one which perhaps gives you the opportunity to do the most good. With the limited powers and responsibility at your disposal.
One works with what one has available at any given time.
[He starts to spread the crunchy peanut butter on a slice of the wholemeal bread.]
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[ peanut butter and jam sandwiches. not exactly her first choice, but she has to admit that it's been longer than she can remember - quite literally - since she's had one. it has a faint but certain juvenile charm. since he starts with the peanut butter, she starts with the jam, having never acquired a taste for nutella on the few occasions she's sampled it. ]
What exactly is it you picture when you think of the Dollhouse?
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[He gives her a small wry smile and when done with the peanut butter, sets it aside, waiting for Claire to finish with the jam. He opens a packet of the crisps and samples then, then makes a face.]
These are bloody awful. How on earth did they come up with the idea they tasted like pizzas?
[Not that he stops eating them.]
I suppose I imagine a cross between a laboratory, a correctional facility and a spa resort. I would presume there is a gymnasium or some other recreational area involving a fitness program. If you talk of multi-billion dollar corporations is anything to go by, the place would have state of the art technology and architectural design. Likely underground. I wasn't imagining a Gulag or Gitmo, at any rate.
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It's not so different from this place - though underground, as you assumed. Much less sun, less open space, noise. [ slightly sidetracked, she draws herself back to the point she was making. ] Most if it is one seamless, peaceful environment - including the lab. There is security, certain corridors leading to storage and maintenance rooms, but I wouldn't say they have the air of a correctional facility.
[ she presses the sandwich together and cuts the crust off one side, then the others. ]
It never feels like a prison.
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Of course. The more pleasant or safe it feels, the less likely anyone will want to escape it to the real world.
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